Wfrfc' 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Bequest  of 
MARIAN  ALLEN  WILLIAMS 


AFOOT  AND  ALONE; 

A  WALK 

FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

BY  THE  SOUTHERN  ROUTE. 
ADVENTURES  AND   OBSERVATIONS 

IX 

SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA,    NEW  MEXICO,    ARIZONA,    TEXAS,   ETC. 

BY 

STEPHEN  POWERS. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  NUMEROUS  ENGRAVINGS. 


"  With  Nature's  freedom  at  the  heart ; 
To  cull  contentment  upon  wildest  shores, 
And  luxuries  extract  from  bleakest  moors; 
With  prompt  embrace  all  beauty  to  enfold, 
Aud  having  rights  in  all  that  we  behold." 

—  Words-worth. 


HARTFORD,  CONN.: 

COLUMBIAN  BOOK  COMPANY. 

1872. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

COLUMBIAN  BOOK  COMPANY, 
in  the  office  of  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


PREFATORY. 
*•» 

THE  walk  from  Sea  to  Sea,  the  story  of  which  is  here 
narrated,  was  undertaken,  partly,  from  a  love  of  wild  ad- 
venture ;  partly,  from  a  wish  to  make  personal  and  ocular 
study  of  the  most  diverse  races  of  the  Republic. 

An  earnest  love  of  Nature,  even  in  her  grimmest  and  sul- 
lenest  moods,  made  me  look  forward  with  delight  to  the 
deserts  of  the  Southern  route ;  and  my  anticipations  were 
realized.  Tramping  month  after  month  across  the  great 
empire  of  Texas ;  then  wandering  free  and  glad  beneath 
the  skies  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico  ;  beholding  now 
and  then  the  flag  of  the  Republic,  flaunting  in  its  wide 
authority  over  those  lonesome  and  hungry  wastes  of  the 
Middle  Continent — this  is  a  pleasure,  to  be  fully  enjoyed 
only  by  the  pedestrian.  These  were  the  happiest  days  of 
my  life,  and  there  comes  to  me  sometimes  an  insatiable 
longing  to  roam  again,  in  the  large  liberty  and  lawlessness 
of  the  prairies,  and  to  grapple  once  more  with  the  sav- 
age deserts. 

The  book  makes  no  pretention  to  learning  in  ethnology 
or  geology,  but  seeks  simply  to  give  some  pictures  of  men 
and  places,  with  a  narrative  of  the  incidents  attending  the 
journey.  S.  P. 

SACRAMENTO,  July,  1871. 


THE  PINEY-WOODS  CABIN  AT  NIGHT,— Frontispiece, 
A  SOUTHERN  MANSION,  .... 

A  HOME  IK  RUINS,  -  .... 

THE  COTTON  PLANT,      -  - 

AN  ALABAMA  PLANTER'S  HOME,  - 

A  NEGRO  VILLAGE,        ..... 

THE  COTTON-PRESS,  ..... 

THE  CAVES  AT  VICKSBURG, 

TAMANY  JONES'  FIRESIDE— "WAL  Now,  I  SA-AY,"   - 

THE  BAYOU  REGION— A  LOUISIANA  SCENE, 

A  LIVE-OAK  GROVE, 

AFTER  THE  WAR,  -  ... 

AN  OX-TEAM,  ..... 

A  TEXAN  RANGER,         -  -v 

A  LITTLE  SLEEPY,    ...... 

SUNSET,      ....... 

SCENE  ON  THE  DESERT — ANTELOPES  AND  MIRAGE, 

VIEW  OF  FORT  DAVIS,  -  - 

WAITING  FOR  SOMETHING  TO  TURN  UP, 

THE  INSULTED  HERDSMAN, 

A  MEXICAN  COOK,    - 

CAPTURED,  •  ... 

A  PORTRAIT, 

A  PIMO  FAMILY, 

THE  CAYOTE,  ...... 

MOUNTAIN  VIEW,  ..... 

ROXY'S  SUITORS— A  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

END  OF  THE  BEAR  HUNT,     "  - 

A  NIGHT  WITH  THE  SHEPHERDS,  ... 


40 

41 

49 

77 

80 

81 

81 

88 

93 

99 

107 

119 

138 

141 

145 

152 

153 

157 

173 

201 

208 

211 

216 

235 

246 

268 

280 

281 


CHAPTER    I. 

PAGE 
Outfitting — Robert  as  Quartermaster — "  Packin'  a  Shirt  in  a  Hat" — My 

Dress  and  Equipments — Departure  from  Raleigh, 19 

CHAPTER    II. 

The  Turpentine-Makers — In  the  Piney- Woods — Meeting  with  a  Freed- 
man — Sherman's  Ash-Cakes — Southern  Characteristics — A  Roadside 
Cooper — Sam  and  Jim — Spectral  Chimneys — My  Cape  Fear  Ferryman 
— "  I  am  not  a  Peddler  " — Experiences  at  Jonesboro' — Graduating  in 
Pine — Winter  Scenery — Anecdote — The  Cross-Roads  Groceryman — A 
Southern  Anthropometer — A  Clay-Eater — Street  Scenes  in  Fayette-  , 
ville— An  Old  Shingle-Shaver—Hospitality  in  the  Old  North  State— 
The  Piney- Woods  Cabin  at  Night  —  Religious  Manifestations — The 
Piney. Woods  Man— The  Women  of  the  South— My  Host's  Wife, ....  34 

CHAPTER    III, 

Among  the  Rice-Eaters — A  High-Toned  Southron — An  Unskillful  Waltz 
— Over  the  Little  Pedee — Noble  Plantations — '•  A  Prodigious  Screech- 
ing " — The  Planter's  Home — Carpetless  Rooms — Footfalls  of  Poverty 
— The  Cavalry  Sergeant  and  the  Tar-Heels — Looking  for  Lodgings — 
"  We  never  Keep  Peddlers  " — On  the  Santee — A  night  with  a  Planter 
—Approach  to  Charleston — Talk  with  a  "Sand-Hiller" — On  the  Bat- 
tery— Reminiscences  of  Secession  Times — Picture  of  a  Planter's  Man- 
sion before  the  War — Another  Picture — A  Ruined  Home — The  Widow 
and  Orphans — The  Happy  Freedmen — In  the  Overseer's  Cabin — The 
Rice  Negroes — The  Marion  Planters — After  the  Battle, 49 

CHAPTER    IV 

Over  the  Red  Hills— A  City  of  Shade  and  Silence— Farewell  to  the  Atlan- 
tic— A  Woman's  Story — Along  the  Ogeechee — Cotton  Trains  —  A 
Black  City— A  Pumfoozled  Freedman— A  Night  at  Captain  Truhitt's 
— An  Unkind  Cut — By  the  Planter's  Fireside — The  Captain's  Story — 
His  Experience  with  Bummers — "  Sherman  Is  Coming  " — Ungrateful 
Slaves — The  Little  Pickaninny — Return  of  the  Runaways — The  Story 
of  Old  Shade— The  Emblem  of  Poverty— Georgia  in  the  War, 64 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    V. 

Among  the  Cotton  Planters — Across  the  Chattahoochee — Story  of  an 
Alabamian  Planter — Harry  and  his  Master — The  Valley  of  the  Alaba- 
ma— In  the  Suburbs — Montgomery — View  of  the  State  House — On 
the  Ferry-Boat  at  Selma — Description  of  a  Planter's  Home — Talks  on 
the  Veranda — Women  of  the  Alabama  Valley, 77 

CHAPTER    VI. 

With  the  Yam-Eaters — A  Mean  Country — March  Peepers — At  Meridian 
— Drake's  Story — Strange  Superstition — Building  a  Cabin — A  Win- 
some Legend — A  Piney- Woods  Village  —  The  Meeting-House  and 
Singing  School — "  Jest  Jim  " — Across  the  Pearl — A  Mississippi  Teu- 
ton— A  Grotesque  Hut  and  its  Occupant — Approach  to  Vicksburg — 
Hallowed  Ground — The  Caves — The  National  Cemetery  —  The  Hill 
City — Visit  to  Tamany  Jones — The  Primeval  Forest — A  Piney-Woods 
Character — The  Red  and  the  Blue — Draw-Bead  College — The  Dogs — 
Outside  the  Cabin— Inside— "  Waal  Now,  I  Sa-ay  "—Story  of  Cap- 
tain Jarnley — The  Contrary  Cannuck — Supper,  and  Afterwards, 93 

CHAPTER    VII. 

On  the  Doleful  Flats — Sherman's  Track  to  Vicksburg — Across  the  Mis- 
sissippi— The  Peninsula — Tookey  Smook — A  Story  of  the  Siege  of 
Vicksburg  —  The  Bayou  Region — Crossing  a  Bayou — Deserted  Vil- 
lages— Sad  Pictures — A  Voodoo  Priestess — Negro  Superstitions — Too- 
key  and  the  Goose — The  Monroe  Planters — The  Red  River — Shreve- 
port — An  Editor's  Sanctum — The  War  of  Races — The  Poor  Whites, . .  107 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

In  the  Land  of  Oxen — Cotton-Wains  and  Their  Drivers — The  Tribes  of 
Joshua — Portrait  of  a  Texan — A  Texas  Norther — A  Texan  in  Love — 
The  Last  Cotton-Field — Hail  to  the  Prairies  ! — Meeting  with  a  Cattle 
Hunter— A  Norwegian  Village — Trinity  Forest — Texan  Refugees — Wax- 
ahatchie— Waiting  for  the  Train— Rangers  and  Ox-Drivers, 119 

CHAPTER    IX. 

Over  the  Rolling  Prairies— Catechism  for  Pups— Starting  for  California 
—An  Unruly  Pageant— A  River  of  Horns— Hog- Wallows— Cross  Tim- 
bers—Bill Snodgrass  and  the  Ichthyosaurians— The  Valley  of  the 
Brazos— Texan  Grocery  Stores— View  near  the  Paloxy— Cattle  At- 
tacked by  Wolves— A  Rancho  and  its  Surroundings— Rawhide— An 
Old  Hermit— A  Night  Stampede— A  Scene  of  Confusion— On  the  Run 
—An  Awful  Storm— In  the  Camanche  Country— School  Attacked  by 
Indians— The  Cow-Boys  and  their  Training— On  the  Brazos  Prairie. . .  133 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

CHAPTER    X. 

On  the  Windy  Plain — Last  Vestige  of  Civilization — Peg-Horn  Gladiators 
—The  Little  Concho— The  Old  Sailor  and  the  Mule— A  terrific  Nip— Fire 
in  Camp— The  Staked  Plain— A  Last  Drink— The  Start— Midnight- 
Restive  Herds — Halt  for  Coffee — The  Camanches  !-The  Doctor's  gallant 
Charge — Approaching  Day — Camanche  Tracks — A  forced  March — 
Baby  Emigrants — A  sleepy  Train — A  Wild  Walk — Alone  on  the  Des- 
ert—Short of  Water— A  Pass  of  Peril— Antelopes— The  Third  Night 
— Exhausted — Rescued — Approaching  the  River — A  Run  for  the  Pecos 
— Appalling  Spectacle — Drowning  Cattle — A  polite  Negro  Corporal — 
Spanish  Ojps — An  Altercation — Mud  Forts — Negroes  on  Guard — The 
perplexed  Sentinel — Magnificent  Sunset — A  Night  Halt, 145 

CHAPTER    XI. 

In  Apache  Land — A  "  Cullud  Gal " — Sensation  in  the  Negro  Camp — 
Scaling  Wash-Bowl  Hill — Olympia  Canyon — A  Government  Train — 
The  Giant's  Causeway  of  Texas — A  Messenger — Waiting  for  Rain — 
Swallows — Fort  Davis — Singular  Phenomena — The  Palmilla — Curious 
Spectacle — Tom  and  Fanny — Rain  at  Last — The  Start — A  Night  Jour- 
ney — Gorgeous  Sunrise — Pushing  for  the  Rio  Grande — Encounter  with 
the  Apaches — The  Soldier's  Life  on  the  Plain — Deserters  and  their 
Experiences, 157 

CHAPTER    XII. 

First  view  of  Mexico— Chihuahua  Mountains — Encamped  on  the  Rio 
Grande — Our  Harlequin — Dave  the  Ranger — San  Antone  the  Ox-tamer 
— The  Young  Emigrant— The  Melon-Stealers— Mexican  Retribution — 
Mexican  Farmers— Sheep  Dogs,  and  Their  Charge — Rancheros  and 
Peons — San  Eleazario  at  Noon — A  Drowsy  Village— Mexican  Beauties  „ 
—Street  Scenes— Fort  Bliss— The  Pass  of  the  North— Last  View  of 
Texas, 168 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

Among  the  Enameled  Hills— A  Mysterious  Visitor— Indian  Yells— The 
Organ  Mountain — Lazoing  a  Steer — A  Ranchero  and  His  Spouse — A 
funny  Sight— Breaking  a  Mustang— Fort  Selby— Frightened  by  Indians 
— Dividing  Cattle — Picturesque  Scene — An  Insulted  Herdsman— The 
Chase — Crossing  the  Rio  Grande — A  Serenade — Horses  Stolen — Mount- 
ain Storm — The  Picture  Galleries  of  New  Mexico— Beautiful  Scenery 
—Attack  on  Train— Apache  Superstition — The  Mirage — Nature's  Cock- 
loft— A  Mexican  Fandango — Winking  for  a  Partner — The  Playas — An 
Enchanted  Desert— The  Belles  of  the  Train— The  Mexican  of  the  Bor- 
der—Shall We  Annex  Mexico  ? . .  .185 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

A  Family  Plot — Gateway  to  Arizona — Climbing  a  Mountain — On  the 
Summit — A  narrow  Escape — Apache  Pass — A  Night  of  Terror — Comic 
Elements — Cudjoe  and  the  German — An  Arizonian  Apache  Fighter — 
How  Indian  Affairs  are  Managed — An  Apache  Massacre — Wayside  In- 
scriptions— Demoralized  Caravan — The  Chaparral  City — The  Fate  of 
Tucson  Pioneers — The  Papago  Indians — Life  in  Tucson — Gambling 
Scene — The  Soldiers — Funny  old  Mexican, 201 

CHAPTER    XV. 

Miseries  of  Emigrant  Life — Midnight  Start — The  Santa  Cruz — The  Sen- 
tinel of  the  Desert — A  Landmark — Surprised  by  Indians — Successful 
Strategy — A  Disagreeable  Captive — Escape — A  good  Omen  and  the 
Sequel — Another  Fright — A  Night  on  a  Sage-Bush — Blue  Water  Sta- 
tion— The  grumbling  Keeper, 211 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

Down  the  River  of  Despair — Sacaton — Pimo  Villages — A  man  of  Family 
—Squaws  and  Pappooses — Inside  a  Wigwam — Pimo  Dolls — A  Texan  Em- 
igrant in  Arizona — Sad  Incident — The  Painted  Rocks — Lunch  with  the 
Maricopas — Merry  Savages — Grand  Scenery — Twilight  on  the  Desert 
— A  Sleepless  Night — A  dreary  Walk — The  Estrella  Mountains — Sun- 
set— Starving  for  Water — Gila  Bend  Station, 226 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

Jn  the  Home  of  the  Heat— Down  the  Gila — The  Impertinent  Cayotes — 
"  Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night  "—Veteran  Hunter— A  Shot  in  the  Dark— A 
Hideous  Chasm — Massacre  of  an  Emigrant  Family — Taken  for  a  Mule 
— Denizens  of  the  River — An  interesting  Character — Love  in  the  Des- 
ert— An  odd  Genius — The  Predatory  Cow — Arizonian  Civilization- 
Apache  Slaves — A  Woman's  Camp — Arizona  City, 235 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Walks  on  the  Desert — Fort  Yuma — The  Colorado — Yuma  Indians — A  hap- 
py Event — Drifting  Sands — Skeletons — Fate  of  a  Deserter — Yankee 
Station-Keepers — A  Walk  by  Moonlight  —  Approaching  the  Sierra 
Nevada — A  Mysterious  River — Sunrise  at  Carriza  Station-*— A  Fairy 
Spectacle — A  Soldier  Boy's  Story — Vallecito  Oasis — Diegeno  Huts — 
Invited  to  Ride—"  You  Bet  "—San  Felipe  Pass— View  from  the  Mount- 
ains— Farewell  to  the  Chaparral, 246 


CONTEXTS.  XV 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

Honey  in  Green  Hills — Diegenos  Village — Buying  Pan-Cakes — In  the 
Valley  of  San  Felipe — California  Birds  and  Flowers — Encounter  with 
a  Diegeno — An  Impromptu  Circus — A  Fearful  Adventure — An  Amazed 
Vaquero — Amusing  Incident — Forlorn  Habitations  —  My  Host  at 
Temecula — A  Silent  Mexican — A  Moonlight  Night — One  of  the  Forty- 
Niners — Peter  Qnartz's  Adventures — A  Miner's  Story — Flour  Sacks 
vs.  Biled  Shirts — Early  Mining  Times — A  Preacher  in  Camp — Gam- 
bling and  the  Result, 263 

CHAPTER    XX 

Wine  in  Dry  Valleys — California  Rivers — The  Santa  Ana — The  Chino 
Plains — An  Amusing  Sight — About  Blackbirds — A  Night  with  a  Mex- 
ican— The  Corn-Huskers — Autumn  Scenery — The  Valley  of  San  Jose 
— Roxy  and  Her  Suitors — The  City  of  the  Angels — A  Visit  to  the 
Wine-Cellars — Life  in  Los  Angeles — Socrates  Hyacinth  in  Trouble — 
Vineyards  and  Wine  Making — Wine  vs.  Whiskey — Tropical  Fruits — 
On  the  Mustard  Plains  —  The  Mexican  Shepherd  —  Starting  for  a 
Bear  Hunt — Santa  Susana  Mountains — A  Bear  Hunter — Game  Discov- 
ered—"Load  for  Your  Life  "—End  of  the  Hunt, 280 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

Coast  Walks — An  Immense  Rancho — Inside  the  Hut — A  Night  with  the 
Shepherds — California  Girls — Early  Days  in  California— The  Native 
Inhabitants — The  Fatal  Gold-Discovery — First  View  of  the  Pacific — 
The  Music  of  the  Sea — My  first  Chinaman — A  Day  in  Santa  Barbara 
California  Farmers — Story  of  James  W.  Marshall,  the  Original  Gold 
Discoverer — Ruined  by  a  Gold  Mine, 293 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

With  the  Shepherds — Gaviota  Pass — Reminiscence  of  Fremont's  Guide 
— Teamsters  and  Tramps — Mission  Santa  Ines — Inside  the  Old  Church 
Adjacent  Grog-Shops — Talk  with  a  Stage-Driver — The  Alfileria — Dry 
Sowing— A  Dingy  Town— The  Hot  Sulphur  Springs— The  Great  Wool 
Growing  Region — Sequestered  Shepherds — A  Child  of  Nature— Herd- 
ing Sheep — New  Sensations — The  Humming  Bird's  Song — Old  John 
and  the  Migueleno  Boy — A  Whistling  Indian — Story  of  Jack  Powers 
the  Famous  Brigand — The  Influence  of  the  Mines — Evidences  of  Pov- 
erty— The  Large  Land-Owners — About  Trees — The  Valley  of  the  Sali- 
nas— Life  of  a  Vaquero — The  Chinese  Cook — Blanket-Men — An  Earth- 
quake— A  Typical  Californian — Mania  for  Wheat — A  Wheat-Colored 
Maiden — Domestic  Felicity — The  Tale  of  an  Ox-Tail, .  308 


XVI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER     XXIII. 

Down  the  Valley  of  Gardens — Interview  with  a  Blanket-Man — An  Agri- 
cultural Experiment — Redwood  Villages — San  Juan — Standing  Treat 
Wheat  Fields — The  Windmills — California  Pumpkins — San  Jose — A 
Noble  Valley — Suburban  Residences — Rural  Life  in  California — The 
Laboring  Classes — The  Employers — The  Story  of  the  Seizure  of  Mon- 
terey by  Commodore  Sloat, 318 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

1846 — The  Stevenson  Regiment — The  Thomas  H.  Perkins — Incidents  of 
the  Voyage — Story  and  Fate  of  a  Pioneer's  Son — Victim  of  a  Vigi- 
lance Committee — Approach  to  San  Francisco — The  Bay — Autumn 
Scenery — Mission  Hill — Dolores — Lone  Mountain — Then  and  Now — 
Our  Ultimate  City— California  Children— The  Chinese—"  Grass  Wid- 
ows " — "  Spiritual  Widowers  " — Local  Characteristics — Sunset  at  the 
Golden  Gate, 327 


ITINERARY. 


FROM  RALEIGH 

TO  CHARLESTON, 

300 

CHARLESTON 

14  SAVANNAH, 

•     110 

SAVANNAH 

"  MACON, 

191 

MACON 

"  COLUMBUS, 

-      100 

COLUMBUS 

"  MONTGOMERY, 

90 

MONTGOMERY 

"  SELMA, 

50 

SELMA 

u  MERIDIAN, 

107 

MERIDIAN 

"    VlCKSBURG, 

-      140 

VlCKSBURG 

"  SHREVEPORT, 

175 

SHREVEPORT 

"  ATHENS, 

•      120 

ATHENS 

"  MARSHALL, 

90 

MARSHALL 

"  WAXAHATCHTE, 

-      165 

WAXAHATCHIE 

"  FRANKLIN,  (El  Paso,) 

600 

FRANKLIN 

"  TUCSON, 

-      305 

TUCSON 

"  Los  ANGELES, 

569 

"      Los  ANGELES 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO, 

•      444 

Total  Walk, 


8,556 


A  JOURNEY  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA. 


CHAPTER   I. 
OUTFITTING. 

'OBEET,'  said  I  to  the  colored  factotum  of  the 
hotel  in  Raleigh,  "  come  hither  and  let  me  behold 
'your  beauty." 

Robert  came  and  stood  before  me — an  oldish  African, 
say  forty-five,  with  his  head  a  little  grizzled,  his  eyes  pop- 
ped out  nearly  half  their  diameters,  and  his  mouth  always 
ajar,  disclosing  the  absence  of  every  alternate  tooth ;  they 
having  been  principally  eliminated  in  the  process  of  his 
youthful  fights. 

"  Robert,  I  propound  unto  your  intelligence  the  follow- 
ing theorem,  to  wit : — That  many  a  bold  soldier  boy,  in 
the  recent  sanguinary  unpleasantness,  who  might  have 
fought  gloriously  for  his  country,  was  prevented  from  so 
doing  by  the  Quartermaster,  who  so  overloaded  him  with 
baggage  that  he  broke  down  before  seeing  the  enemy. 
Do  you  admit  the  correctness  of  the  postulate,  Robert  ?" 

"  Well,  sah,  a  nigger  dat  waited  on  a  gemmen  in  de  San- 
guinary Commission,  sah,  he  tell  me  de  Quartermaster 
mighty  hard  on  de  boys  sometimes,  sah." 

"  That's  it,  Robert,  undoubtedly.  Now,  I  am  going  on 
a  journey  of  some  thousands  of  miles,  and  I  intend  to  be 
my  own  Quartermaster,  or  rather,  I  am  going  to  promote 


18  OUTFITTING. 

you  to  that  office,  as  an  experiment.  You  perceive  scat- 
tered on  the  bed  yonder,  the  entire  extent  of  my  worldly 
possessions.  Here  is  my  hat,  Robert,  and  I  desire  you 
now  to  fill  it  with  such  articles,  selected  from  my  personal 
property,  as  you  consider  most  necessary  for  my  uses  dur- 
ing a  journey  of  that  length.  If  you  succeed  in  filling  it 
according  to  my  notions,  all  that  remains  over  of  my 
goods  and  chattels  shall  accrue  to  you,  as  the  emoluments 
and  perquisites  of  your  office,  the  same  to  continue  and 
appertain  to  yourself  and  your  lawful  heirs  or  assigns  in 
perpetuum.  You  comprehend  perfectly,  Robert  ?" 

"  Wha'  fur  gwine  fur  to  pu  'em  in  de  hat  ?"  asked  Rob- 
ert in  profound  astonishment. 

"  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  start  very  soon,  Robert ;  will 
you  make  the  experiment,  or  not  ?" 

He  scrutinized  me  with  one  searching  look,  as  if  to  sat- 
isfy himself  that  I  was  not  demented,  then  with  another, 
to  assure  himself  whether  or  not  it  was  a  solemn  jest; 
then  he  took  the  hat  and  proceeded  hesitatingly  to  the 
bedside.  The  bedstead  was  of  unpainted  pine,  undimin- 
ished  at  the  head,  but  the  upper  segment  of  the  foot-board 
had  been  kicked  off  by  some  piney-woods  lodger  of  too 
long  legs ;  and  on  it  was  spread  a  counterpane  with  a  white 
ground,  upon  which  were  depicted  in  green,  divers  crooked- 
necked  cranes  or  gourds,  I  am  uncertain  which. 

First,  he  selected  a  couple  of  gorgeous  neckties,  and  laid 
them  carefully  in  the  hat.  Then  he  took  a  box  of  collars, 
and  endeavored  to  put  them  in  also,  without  rumpling  the 
neckties ;  but  finally  he  had  a  happy  inspiration,  took  out 
the  collars  and  the  neckties,  wrapped  the  latter  around  the 
box,  and  then  returned  them  triumphantly  into  the  hat. 
Then  he  ventured  another  furtive  glance,  before  I  could 
smooth  out  of  my  face  the  smile  with  which  it  was  wrink- 
ling, and  immediately  the  explosion  took  place. 

w  Yah,  yah,  yah !   De  hat  won't  hold  nuffin  more  but 


OUTFITTING.  19 

jest  dese  hyur  an'  de  socks — yah,  yah ! — an'  mighty  soon 
you  jest  go  plumb  naked,  'cept  socks  and  a  collar.  Yah, 
yah,  yah !" 

I  thought  Robert  would  certainly  have  fallen  on  the 
floor.  He  clutched  the  bed-post  convulsively  with  both 
hands,  bowed  down  his  head  between  his  arms,  and  finally 
tumbled  over  helplessly  on  the  bed,  and  the  foot-board 
seemed  about  to  be  demolished  entirely. 

"  Packin'  a  shirt  in  a  hat !"  and  then  he  yelled  outright, 
and  the  house  shook  under  his  "  irrepressible  laughter." 

"  I  see,  Robert,  I  shall  have  to  retire  you  from  the  rank 
of  Quartermaster,  and  take  upon  myself  the  high  functions 
of  that  office." 

So  I  produced  a  traveling-bag  and  placed  therein  the 
following  articles : — a  "diamond  edition"  of  Longfellow, 
the  Harper's  text  of  Horace,  a  manifold  note-book  for  the 
res  gestae,  a  change  of  flannel,  a  tooth-brush,  my  sister's 
spool  of  snuff-colored  thread,  and  my  mother's  hussif. 
This  latter  article  was  very  wonderfully  and  inscrutably 
made,  and  contained  a  thimble,  an  elegant  assortment  of 
pins,  needles  and  buttons,  scissors,  and  leaves  for  needles, 
some  of  white  flannel,  daintily  stitched  with  pink  thread 
around  the  edges,  and  some  of  scarlet,  stitched  with  white. 
When  wrapped  together  it  was  no  larger  than  a  cylindri- 
cal nutmeg-grater ;  and  it  was  of  such  marvelous  potency 
in  repairing  rips  and  rents,  that  I  herewith  state  my  belief 
that,  if  my  mother  simply  sat  in  the  room  with  it,  it  could 
keep  house  itself. 

I  was  dressed  in  a  pair  of  doeskin  trowsers ;  light  top- 
boots,  with  the  ends  of  the  trowsers  inserted  therein ;  a 
shortish  frock-coat ;  and  a  planter's  hat. 

Thus  rigged  out,  and  equipped  with  a  mighty  jackknife, 
I  left  Raleigh  on  New  Year's  day,  1868. 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  TimPENTINE-MAKEKS. 

DEARLY  everybody  to  whom  I  imparted  my 
tremendous  secret  sought  to  dissuade  me  from  the 
enterprise.  I  was  solemnly  warned  that  I  should 
certainly  be  assassinated  by  the  freedmen !  Even  Madge- 
howlet  herself,  sitting  alone  in  a  tree-top  in  the  sol- 
emn deeps  of  the  pineries  at  evening,  called  out  to  me, 
"You  fool !  you  fool !  fool !  fool !"  Nevertheless,  no  enemy 
assailed  me  more  terrific  than  the  robber  Reynard,  prowl- 
ing in  the  gloaming  by  the  fence,  and  shooting  back  at 
me,  Scythian-like,  a  couple  of  blood-red  bullets  from  the 
end  of  his  wry  neck. 

Awful  is  the  gloom  and  the  solitude  by  night  in  these 
philosophic  pines  of  the  Old  North  State.  Presently  there 
comes  a  mournful  and  fitful  moaning  for  a  moment,  as  the 
wind  soughs  through  the  topmost  branches.  Then  the 
wind  is  still,  and  the  silence  is  doubly  awful.  Hear  the 
dull  thud  of  the  assassin's  bludgeon,  and  the  gurgling  of 
the  blood!  'Twas  only  the  hoarse-throated  owl.  Hist! 
see  those  dreadful  bogeys,  stalking  through  the  woods  in 
their  flaming  sarks !  Fool !  it  is  only  the  long  gashes  on 
the  pines,  faintly  phosphorescing  with  gum. 

Some  hear  in  this  plaintive  lament  of  the  pines  the  voice 
of  Nature,  weeping  over  the  follies  and  miseries  of  her 
children.  The  disciples  of  Darwin  may  detect  in  the 
moaning  some  inchoate  brother's  fractional  "  world-soul," 
struggling  for  its  human  development.  Every  imagina- 
tive soul  hears  its  own  language,  as  Homer  says  the  wor- 


IX  THE  TIXEY  WOODS.  21 

shipers  at  Delos  heard  tlie  priestesses  eacli  in  liis  own 
tongue. 

Of  these  two  theories,  O  wise  reader,  "chuse  you 
whilk."  Let  us  dip  our  drinking-cups  into  this  deft  little 
pocket  chopped  in  the  pine,  and  quaff  some  gum-water, 
for  it  will  make  us  wise  like  a  medicine ;  and  then  let  us 
reason  together.  For  my  part,  I  cleave  to  the  Darwinian 
theory,  for  in  no  other  manner  can  we  account  for  the 
extraordinary  populousness  of  these  woods. 

Here,  too,  it  was  that  Sherman  passed — the  comet  of 
the  war — when,  disdaining  the  meaner  orbits  of  little  men, 
he  wheeled  on  his  baleful  night  through  Confederate 
heavens,  while  his  fiery  train  consumed  many  homes  and 
hoary  tyrannies  together.  Here  it  wTas  that  he  returned, 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Eagle  and  the  Stars,  while  his 
cannon-wheels  laughed  their  big  chuckling  laugh,  as  they 
went  home,  and  these  old  woods  winked  with  the  glinting 
of  bayonets. 

Ah !  how  many  bright  star-lives,  both  in  Northern  and 
and  Southern  orbits,  were  blotted  out  in  the  night  when 
this  comet  crushed  the  rival  luminary  of  the  Republic ! 

The  first  freedman  I  met,  instead  of  assassinating  me, 
grinned  fearfully,  when  he  discovered  I  was  a  Northern 
man.  He  wore  but  one  shoe,  and  that  was  much  dilapida- 
ted. His  trowsers  were  sustained  by  a  corn-husk  belt,  and 
he  wore  a  government  blouse,  split  all  the  way  down  the 
back,  and  kept  to  duty  by  a  tow-string  tied  around  his 
neck.  Yet  from  his  tattered  breast  fluttered  a  Union 
League  badge,  a  bit  of  ribbon  worth  five  cents,  for  which 
he  said  he  expended  a  dollar.  Said  I  to  him  : 

"  Uncle,  do  you  enjoy  '  the  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow 
of  soul '  in  the  Union  League  ?" 

"  No,  sah ;  I  can't  say  as  we  does,  sah." 

"  What  stands  between  you  and  your  soul's  enjoyment, 
Uncle  ?  Tell  me  about  your  troubles." 


22  ONE  OF  SHERMAN'S  ASH-CAKES. 

He  glanced  rather  dubiously  at  his  badge,  as  if  h'e  had  a 
faint  suspicion  I  might  be  poking  fun  at  it ;  then  he  shift- 
ed his  weight  upon  his  other  leg,  as  if  to  shift  off  the  bur- 
den of  conscience  for  telling  the  little  family  secret  he  was 
about  to  impart. 

"Well,  you  see,  sah,  we  was  'joyin  ourselves  pretty 
sharp,  and  feelin'  de  lub  ob  de  Union  in  de  sperrit  of  de 
flesh,  'till  dese  hyur  free  niggers  jined  in.  Dey  was  boun' 
for  to  rule  de  roost,  and  dey  was  all  de  time  a  kickin'  up  a 
fuss." 

"  But  you  are  all  free  negroes  now." 

"  But  dese  hyur  is  de  old  free  niggers,  I  mean,  afo'  de 
wah.  Dey  calls  us,  sence  de  wah,  Sherman's  ash-cakes, 
and  dey's  all  de  time  a  kickin'  up  a  fuss." 

The  boys  would  have  deserved  well  of  posterity  if  they 
had  only  exterminated  that  melodious  "  pot-rack,  pot-rack  !" 
of  the  southern  guinea-hens.  But  every  African  fowl  once 
boiled  in  Sherman's  mess-kettles  had  risen  like  a  Phoenix  ; 
and  every  one  of  those  geese  which  had  such  an  insane 
propensity  for  swallowing  Federal  ramrods,  had  reappeared 
upon  the  scene,  with  all  the  iron-rust  still  in  its  screeching 
throat.  Wonderful  is  the  South  for  the  multitude  of  these 
pensive  fowls,  warbling  "  their  native  wood-notes  wrild." 

Every  one  of  the  original  rail-fences  is  rehabilitated  in 
its  pristine  vermiculation.  Not  one  is  missing  of  those 
tan,  baked-looking  hogs,  writh  the  "imped  ribs"  and 
arching  spine,  which  are  muzzling  in  the  pine-straw  in 
every  well  well-regulated  landscape  of  the  South.  Again, 
as  before  the  war,  slender  columns  of  shingles  flank  the 
road,  towering  among  the  aromatic,  golden  snow-drifts  of 
the  Carolinas. 

The  fat  gold  of  shingles  gives  yellow  gleams  from  the 
new-made  cabin-roof.  Does  the  carpenter  stretch  a  plum- 
met against  his  work  ?  He  steps  away  ten  paces,  and  ran- 
ges his  infallible  perpendicular  by  any  pine. 


MY  CAPE  FEAR  FERRYMAN.  23 

Here,  in  a  roadside  shop,  a  dusky  cooper  beats  his  com- 
plaining barrel,  in  a  kind  of  Runic  rhyme,  expounding  the 
constitution  the  while  to  his  neighbor.  It  is  pleasant  to 
hear  these  sable  Federalists  explain  our  polity  so  absolutely, 
without  any  of  the  customary  friction  and  fire. 

"  Whackety-whang-  whang-whang !  Whackety-whang ! 
Mind,  Sam,  de  gallantry  ob  de  cons'tution  is  'zactly — 
whackety — whang ! — is  'zactly  what  I  tell  you,  life,  liberty, 
and  de  'suit  ob  property.  Whackety — whang !" 

"  Ta'n't  de  'suit  ob  property ;  it's  de  de  'suit  ob  happi- 
ness, I  tell  you,"  said  the  other  earnestly. 

"  Go  'way,  you  fool  nigger !  Tell  me  I  don't  know ! 
When  you  got  property  you  got  happiness,  ha'n't  you  ? 
Whackety — whang — whang !  It's  de  same  anyhow." 

"  Dat's  so,  Jim.  But  dere  a'n't  no  gallantry  ob  de  con- 
stitution. De  gallantry-^-why,  dat's  de  wimmen." 

"  Go  'way  !  I  knowed  you  didn't  know  nuthin'  nohow. 
Whacket — whang — whang !  De  gallantry  ob  de  constitu- 
tion, I  tell  you,  is  de  obscurity  ob  de  fundileus  principles. 
Whackety — whang !" 

"  Dat's  so,  Jim,  come  to  think.  De  pundibus  princi- 
ples— yes,  dat's  so." 

Here  and  there  in  an  "  old  field "  is  a  pair  of  spectral 
chimneys,  whose  great  eyes  of  fireplaces  alow  and  aloft 
glower  wrathfully  at  each  other  across  the  intervening 
heap  of  ashes,  flickering  at  each  other  as  the  cause  of  the 
disaster.  But  most  of  them  are  rebuilt,  and  the  Old 
North  State  has  "beauty  for  ashes,  the  air  of  joy  for 
mourning,  the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heav- 
iness." 

At  the  Cape  Fear  one  of  those  gigantic  negroes,  nearly 
seven  feet  high,  who  are  occasionally  seen  in  North  Caro- 
lina, sat  in  the  stem  of  a  frail  punt,  and  wafted  me  over 
the  river.  He  had  never  seen  a  Yankee  before,  and  he 
riveted  his  great  eyes  on  me,  and  never  moved  them  till 


24:  EXPERIENCES  AT  JOXESBORO'. 

we  touched  the  other  bank,  while  he  sat  dipping  first  on* 
this  side,  then  on  that,  slowly  and  abstractedly,  as  if  he 
were  slicing  invisible  cheese.  He  did  not  even  quench  his 
gaze  when  the  boat  touched,  and  I  handed  him  my  fare, 
but  he  came  to  the  bow,  and  stood  looking  at  me  till  I 
reached  the  top  of  the  bank,  when  his  eyes  reached  my 
traveling-bag,  and  speech  came  to  him  again  at  last. 

"  Got  anything  to  sell  dar,  boss — rings  or  sich  like 
truck?" 

"  I  am  not  a  peddler,"  I  replied.  "  I  carry  about  with 
me  no  worldly  possessions  but  justice  and  an  equal  mind." 

"  Well,  'scuse  me,  boss ;  but  I  thought,  bein'  you  was  a 
Yankee,  you  mout  hev  some  sich  truck." 

In  Jonesboro  town  I  graduated  in  pine.  I  sat  down  in 
a  little  pine  house,  on  a  bare  pine  floor,  before  a  bare  pine 
table,  and  a  rosy  little  woman,  very  communicative  for  a 
piney-woods  inhabitant,  gave  me  some  capital  yams,  baked 
and  mealy,  and  spareribs  thinly  fattened  on  pine  roots. 
Then  I  sat  down  by  a  stove  which  was  under  heavy  bom- 
bardment with  tobacco  juice  from  a  circle  of  blue-nosed, 
yellow-faced,  piney-woods  men,  who  were  discussing  the 
price  of  tar  and  rosin.  Presently  one  of  them  produced  a 
black  bottle  from  his  pocket,  and  passed  it  around.  When 
it  reached  my  neighbor,  he  extracted  it  from  his  mouth 
with  a  clamorous  "  flunk,"  and  offered  it  to  me. 

"  Hev  pinetop,  stranger  ?" 

But  in  the  spareribs  I  had  tried  the  pine  roots,  and  I 
excused  myself,  not  caring  to  become  familiar  with  the 
higher  branches. 

In  these  great  pineries  of  the  coast,  sometimes  the  gol- 
den sun,  shining  with  a  rich  piney  yellowness,  is  let  right 
down  into  natural  glades,  gilded  over  with  the  dying 
broom-grass.  Here,  in  these  sheltered  dells,  a  January 
noon  is  the  finest  relish  of  the  year ;  amid  the  golden  and 
evergreen  splendors  of  the  sunny  Carolinas;  the  pale- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  NEGRO  CHARACTER.         .         25 

green  "mystic  mistletoe"  aloft;  the  tender  myrtle,  the 
cassena,  and  the  row-palmetto  alow;  the  Spanish  moss, 
which  bourgeons  on  the  lustrous-leaved  magnolia,  or  swings 
its  soft  festoons,  in  their  delicate  pearly-gray,  across  the 
purple  and  frosted  berries  of  the  cedar.  Here,  in  the  mel- 
low lilac  of  the  haze,  the  brooding  silence  of  the  softened 
winter  is  broken  only  by  the  swift  straight  whiz  of  some 
roving  bee,  or,  perchance,  occasionally  by  the  silvery  gar- 
rulity of  the  bobolink,  that  genuine  Yankee,  spending  the 
winter  in  the  South,  but  not  for  bronchitis.  He  babbles 
so  fast  one  would  think  he  had  come  down  peddling. 

"Notions  here !   Notions  here  !  cheap — cheap — cheap !" 

How  these  piney  woods  and  turpentine  villages  swarrn 
with  those  strange,  little,  timid,  bloodless,  sand-colored 
children,  whom  it  makes  one  sad  to  behold !  Yet  they  are 
remarkably  healthy. 

In  one  of  these  villages  I  saw  a  couple  of  incidents 
which  illustrate  negro  character.  A  tall  sallow  woman 
came  out  of  a  house,  evidently  in  anger,  picked  up  a  splint- 
er, and  started  towards  a  group  of  children  playing  on  the 
lumber.  Her  little  girl  saw  a  rod  was  in  pickle,  and 
started  to  run,  crying,  while  the  mother  said,  "  Now  I 
will  whip  you !  I  will  whip  you  this  time  !"  None  of  the 
white  children  pitied  the  little  girl,  but  a  colored  lad 
caught  her  up,  and  hurried  with  her  toward  the  mother, 
pleading,  "  Please  don't,  Mrs.  Martin,  let  her  go  this  time." 
He  scudded  away  to  the  door,  and  so  averted  the 
catastrophe. 

Next,  I  saw  a  couple  of  pickaninnies  who  had  toddled 
down  to  a  puddle  of  refuse  tar,  with  which  they  smeared 
their  little  pug  noses,  then  touched  them  together  and 
pulled  them  apart — an  operation  which  they  accomplished 
with  great  and  hilarious  cackling.  This  same  -boy  was 
sent  by  his  mother  to  bring  the  babies ;  but,  instead  of 
showing  the  kindness  he  did  toward  the  white  child,  he 
2 


26  THE  CROSS-ROADS  GROCERYMEX. 

ran  down  and  pushed  them  over,  and  the  little  woolly 
head  of  one  of  them  went  into  the  tar  so  deep  that  the 
boy  lifted  him  almost  perpendicular,  before  it  was  extri- 
cated. 

Now,  while  I  am  in  a  village,  I  want  to  inquire  in  my 
most  indignant  tones,  why,  because  a  fellow  is  not  afraid 
to  pull  off  his  coat  and  walk,  must  every  pesty  little  gro- 
ceryman  in  these  cross-roads  try  to  sell  him  maggoty 
cheese?  Does  that  act  constitute  him  an  idiot,  that  he 
should  be  supposed  to  be  fond  of  "  animated  nature  ?" 

And  in  this  country  store  there  is  inevitably  a  sleek, 
paternal-looking  gentleman,  hollow-cheeked  and  much 
wrinkled  about  the  mouth,  with  a  greasy  coat,  and  read- 
ing a  paper  with  spectacles.  When  the  cheese  is  under 
discussion,  and  the  unfortunate  pedestrian  is  meekly  ob- 
jecting to  it,  the  elderly  gentleman  invariably  thrusts  his 
sharp  nose  into  the  circle,  examines  the  cheese,  and  pro- 
tests that  it  is  the  very  kind  he  always  purchases  for  his 
family  consumption,  and  that  it  is  the  supreme  solace  and 
consolation  of  his  life  to  be  permitted  to  masticate  the 
same. 

One  day  I  constructed  a  kind  of  social  thermometer  or 
anthropometer,  which  was  of  great  service  to  me  in  my 
subsequent  journeyings.  On  a  slip  of  paper  I  scaled  off 
certain  points,  by  regular  intervals,  with  negro  cabins  for 
degrees.  Thus,  for  instance,  a  house  with  no  negro  quar- 
ters around  it  was  at  zero,  and  marked  "  loyal."  At  live 
degrees,  or  cabins,  the  house  was  "  doubtful ;"  ten,  "  op- 
posed to  secession,  but  went  with  his  State;"  twenty, 
"  fire-eater,"  etc. 

To  particularize: — a  very  small  log-cabin,  with  three 
dogs  at  the  door,  generally  indicated  a  thrifty  negro,  freed 
by  his  own  money  before  the  war.  The  same  kind  of 
cabin,  with  two  dogs,  denoted  a  poor  white  man,  loyal  as 
a  sheep. 


A  SOUTHERN  ANTHROPOMETER.  27 

At  zero  I  dined  off  boiled  bacon  and  collard  greens. 
Our  talk  was  about  predestination,  baptism  by  immersion, 
the  relative  excellences  of  salted  and  gammond  pork,  and 
the  "  d —  nigger,"  considered  as  a  thief  and  a  liar.  The 
host  was  drafted  into  the  Confederate  army,  but  "  took 
the  bush." 

At  two  or  three  degrees,  there  would  be  a  pile  of  dog- 
eared school  books  on  the  table,  but  no  newspaper.  The 
sons  volunteered,  to  avoid  the  conscription,  but  "  always 
shot  over  the  Yankees'  heads." 

Five  degrees  indicated  a  copy  of  the  county  paper  on 
the  table,  and  some  sad-looking  rosebushes  in  the  door- 
yard.  The  sons  all  enlisted  early,  and  never  shot  over 
the  Yankees'  heads.  When  Sherman  came  along,  he 
found  this  family  "  had  always  been  good  Union  people," 
but  at  night  their  boys  stuffed  the  soldier's  pipes  with  dis- 
loyal substances.  They  had  a  "  faithful  nigger,"  (nearly 
every  family  had  one,)  but  the  Yankees  pricked  him  with 
bayonets,  to  make  him  disclose  the  hiding-place  of  the 
horses. 

Arrived  at  ten  degrees,  I  would  find  a  fine  painted 
house,  and  a  library,  and  the  family  sufficiently  cultured 
to  enable  them  to  converse  very  intelligently  for  twenty 
minutes  before  they  imparted  to  me  the  inevitable  infor- 
mation, "Free  niggers  won't  work."  About  at  this 
point  I  found  the  Co-operationist  of  1860,  who  was  not  a 
Secessionist  pure  and  simple,  but  wanted  the  South  to  act 
together,  whether  for  or  against  secession. 

From  twenty  degrees  upward  there  was  splendid  classi- 
cal culture,  plenty  of  silk  and  of  silver,  and  lusty  disloy- 
alty, i.  e.,  original  and  separate  Secessionism.  In  return 
for  the  generous  hospitality  of  these  families,  for  which, 
especially  in  South  Carolina,  they  would  accept  no  com- 
pensation, I  was  obliged  to  listen,  for  the  thousandth  time, 
to  the  accursed  truism,  "  The  nigger  is  the  natural  infe- 


28  INTERVIEWING  A  CLAY-EATER. 

rior  of  the  white  man,"  and  "  without  a  master  to  care  for 
him,  the  nigger  is  relapsing  into  hideous  sensualism,  and 
is  on  the  high  road  to  extinction."  Nevertheless  I  am 
bound  to  add  that,  as  a  general  rule,  (though,  of  course, 
there  are  many  exceptions,)  real,  substantial,  bread-and- 
meat  kindness  to  the  freedmen  increases  pari  possu  with 
the  degrees  on  this  anthropometer.  Nowhere  is  there 
more  cruelty  and  intolerance  towards  the  negro  than  at 
zero. 

The  broadest  and  most  truthful  rule  in  regard  of  the 
two  populations  of  the  South  may  be  formulated  in  these 
words : — Tolerance  towards  the  negro  broadens  with  the 
planter's  acres.  Let  a  man  be  in  such  abject  poverty  as  to 
own  no  land  whatever,  and  he  finds  himself  thrown  in 
direct  competition  with  the  freedman,  and  hates  him ;  let 
him  own  but  sixty  acres,  and  work  with  his  hired  negro 
occasionally  in  the  field,. and  he  already  acquires  towards 
him  a  kindlier  feeling.  . 

Approaching  Fayetteville,  I  came  up  with  an  undoubted 
specimen  of  the  North  Carolina  clay-eater.  On  his  dray 
there  was  a  single  fagot  of  light  wood,  and  a  small  bale  of 
peltry,  and  he  was  astride  of  the  donkey,  with  his  legs 
outside  the  thills,  though  the  animal  was  comically  small. 
His  legs  dangled  down  so  long  that  he  could  have  doubled 
ih  nn  twice  around  the  donkey,  and  on  one  of  his  callous 
heels  he  wore  a  mighty  spur,  with  which  he  frequently 
digged  the  unhappy  animal  nearly  on  top  of  its  back. 
His  trowsers  were  slipped  up  to  his  knees,  his  coat  was 
made  of  gunny-cloth,  and  out  of  the  top  of  his  hat  pro- 
jected his  reddish-yellow  hair.  His  eyes  were  watery,  and 
had  a  kind  of  piggish  leer.  I  thought  I  would  ask  him 
questions  fast  enough  and  directly  enough  to  force  from 
him  a  positive  answer  of  "yes"  or  "no" — a  thing  which 
it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  obtain  in  the  piney-woods — 
but  I  found  he  was  no  liripoop.  After  salutations  I  said : 


INTERVIEWING  A  CLAY-EATER.  29 

"  Is  there  any  tavern  on  the  road  to  Fayetteville  ?" 
"  I  reckon  mebbe  you  mout  find  one,  ef  you  looked  in 
the  right  place." 

"  This  is  the  direct  road  to  Fayetteville,  I  suppose  ?" 
"  You'll  be  putty  apt  fur  to  git  thar,  ef  you  keep  goin' 
straight  ahead,"  and  he  gave  me  a  kind  of  low  cunning 
leer  ,  as  if  he  understood  already  what  I  was  attempting. 
"  Do  you  sell  much  wood  in  Fayetteville  ??? 
"  I  reckon  this  hyur  jack  thinks  it  has  to  haul  a  right 
smart  chance."     Hereupon  he  took  out  a  cake  of  tobacco, 
and  a  knife  some  eight  inches  long,  and  cut  off  a  mouth- 
ful which  he  inserted  far  into  the  hollow   of  his  cheek, 
performing  the  whole  operation  with  such  a  kind  of  delib- 
erateness  as  showed  he  felt  bored. 

"  Does  wood  bear  a  good  price  now  ?" 
"  It's  jest  accordin'.     Some  fetches  more,  and  some  agin 
not  so  much." 

"  Oak  fetches  more  than  pine,  I  suppose  ?" 
"Ca-an't  say  as  it  does  reglar.     Mout;   then  agin  it 
moutn't.     Green  oak  kinder  needs  a  little  lightwood  fur 
to  set  it  goin'.     You  got  to  hev  both." 

"  I  believe  you  Southerners  burn  green  wood  mostly  ?" 
"  Tain't  perticular.  Every  feller  to  his  likin'." 
"  Well  now,  my  friend,  pardon  my  impertinence ;  but  I 
am  writing  a  book  on  the  subject  of  wood,  and  I  am  en- 
deavoring to  acquire  some  trustworthy  information  on  the 
matter,  as  to  the  fiber,  durability,  combustibility,  and  other 
qualities  of  the  various  woods.  If  now  you  were  called 
upon  in  a  court  of  law  to  give  your  personal  and  unbiased 
opinion,  you  would  declare  upon  oath,  would  you  not,  that 
a  hundred  pounds  of  green  oak  are  heavier  than  a  hun- 
dred pounds  of  dry  pine  ?" 

He  gave  me  a  quick  glance,  then  he  looked  steadfastly 
at  the  ass'  ears. 

"  Well  now,  stranger,  you  kin  jest  set  down  in  your 


30  STREET  SCEXES  IN  FAYETTEVILLE. 

book,  when  you  git  to  that  place,  that  all  the  people  of 
North  Caroliny  wos  sech  derned  fools  you  hed  to  weigh  it 
yerself." 

Fayetteville.  A  genuine  Southern  city,  with  its  broad, 
sunken,  sandy  streets ;  the  inevitable  rows  of  mulberries 
and  China-trees ;  the  street-lamps  smashed  in  some  lively 
row;  the  moldering  damp-cracked  fronts  of  stucco;  the 
drowsy  stir  in  the  streets ;  the  exquisitely  beautiful,  mar- 
ble-white, black-eyed  girls,  gliding  timidly  along  in  their 
limp  dresses ;  the  lazy  swinging  wenches,  with  buckets  of 
water  on  their  turbaned  heads,  which  they  screw  around 
so  carefully  and  so  stiffly  to  catch  every  sight ;  the  young 
men,  sitting  sharply  angular  on  goods-boxes  along  the 
pavements ;  the  spavined  plantation  coaches,  with  withed 
axles,  and  harness  pieced  with  gunny-cloth,  and  not  nearly 
so  oily-black  as  the  negro  atop,  in  his  cast-off  finery,  a  gor- 
geous silk  hat,  breastpins  galore,  and  white  grocery  twine 
in  his  shoes,  smirking  and  grimacing  to  every  dark  woman 
on  the  street,  as  he  drives  along. 

One  day  I  came  upon  a  very  old  man,  sitting  prone  on 
the  ground,  shaving  shingles.  Singularly  enough  for  a 
piney-woods  man,  he  was  rather  communicative,  and  we 
discoursed  on  various  matters.  At  last  he  asked  me  about 
the  public  debt,  and  I  set  it  forth  to  him  in  all  its  impo- 
sing roundness  of  millions  and  billions,  but  it  appeared  to 
make  no  adequate  impression,  for  he  only  looked  blank 
and  said  nothing.  Then  I  wrote  it  out  on  a  shingle,  and 
gave  it  to  him  to  contemplate.  He  took  it,  turned  it 
wrong  side  up,  regarded  it  vacantly  for  a  time,  as  if  in 
profound  cogitation  of  its  greatness,  then  carefully  laid  it 
down,  bottom  side  up,  and  commenced  shaving  again,  with- 
out uttering  a  word.  Presently  he  stopped  again,  and 
asked : 

"  What  mout  rosom  be  wuth  in  Ealeigh  ?" 

"  Keally,  I  can't  say.  I  didn't  read  the  market  reports 
before  I  started." 


THE  PIXEY-WOODS  CABIX  AT  NIGHT.  31 

A  gleam  of  triumph  brightened  his  face  as  he  glanced 
quickly  at  me. 

"  Well  now,  'scuse  me  stranger ;  but  'pears  like  it's 
rather  singular.  Come  all  the  way  down  from  Raleigh, 
and  don't  know  what  rosom  are  wuth." 

The  old  man  had  his  revenge.  He  knew  that  I  knew 
that  he  could  not  read,  and  had  endeavored  to  turn  the 
tables. 

The  Old  North  State  is  not  in  repute  for  hospitality. 
If  I  was  belated  at  night,  and  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  roar- 
ing fire  through  the  chinks  of  a  piney-woods  cabin,  I 
sighed  inwardly  at  my  approaching  tribulation.  First, 
there  would  be  the  villainous  hounds,  fiercely  intent  on 
fleshing  their  tusks  in  my  legs,  and  then  the  geese  would 
set  up  a  diabolical  squalling  and  clapperclawing.  Still  no- 
body would  come  to  the  door. 

Rap,  rap,  rap ! 

"  Who's  thar?" 

Then  I  would  extemporize  an  animated  biography  of 
myself,  sandwiching  in  the  chapters  thereof  between  the 
flurries  of  yelps,  and  kicking  desperately  right  and  left  the 
while,  to  prevent  the  brutes  from  tearing  away  the  tails  of 
my  coat.  At  last  there  would  be  a  low  consultation  on  the 
inside,  then  the  man  would  shuffle  to  the  door,  open  it 
cautiously,  and,  standing  behind  it,  stick  his  head  out,  and 
look.  Seeing  I  was  not  armed,  he  would  let  me  come  in- 
side. There  would  be  eight  or  ten  whitish-clad,  whitish- 
faced  people  around  the  hearth,  some  of  them  smoking, 
some  sucking  the  snuif-swab,  the  rest  doing  nothing. 
Finding  out  at  last  who  I  was,  they  sometimes  seemed  to 
be  a  little  ashamed,  and  explained  that  their  extreme  cau- 
tiousness was  learned  towards  the  end  of  the  war ;  and,  in 
consideration  of  the  ruffian  horrors  of  which  they  told  me, 
I  was  disposed  to  be  charitable. 

The  people  of  the  South,  especially  of  such  old  steady 


32  RELIGIOUS  MANIFESTATIONS. 

going  communities  as  North  Carolina,  are  far  more  reli- 
gious, if  often  only  formally,  than  we  of  the  North. 
They  seem  to  feel  almost  universally,  chastened  by  the 
great  and  terrible  war.  The  very  lowest  classes,  as  for 
instance  those  who  subsist  chiefly  by  renting  turpentine 
trees,  gave  feeble  religious  manifestations,  but  I  seldom 
stopped  with  a  planter  or  even  with  the  humblest  fanner, 
where  grace  was  not  pronounced  at  table,  though  it  was 
frequently  done  in  a  painfully  flippant  and  formal  manner. 

Dr.  John  "W.  Draper,  suckled  on  the  materialism  of 
Buckle  and  Comte,  in  his  History  of  the  American  Civil 
War,  says  the  climate  of  the  South  "promoted  a  senti- 
ment of  independence  in  the  person,  and  of  State  Eights 
in  the  community."  In  the  Thoughts  on  American  Civil 
Policy,  he  says  again  of  the  South,  "  More  volative  than 
reflective,  it  can  never  have  a  constant  love  for  a  fixed  con- 
stitution." On  the  contrary,  the  South  is  notably  old- 
fashioned  in  everything ; — in  legislation,  in  dress,  in  wor- 
ship, in  forms  of  speech.  Simply  because  it  is  "  more  vol- 
atile than  reflective,"  and  therefore  not  introspective  and 
inventive,  it  is  content  to  slip  along  in  the  ancient  grooves. 
Note  such  quaint  Cethegan  uses  as,  "  holp,"  "  lone "  for 
"like,"  "for  to"  with  the  infinitive,  "drug"  for  "drag- 
ged," etc.  The  ladies  dresses  are  at  least  a  year  behind 
the  fashions  of  the  North.  Go  into  the  churches,  even  in 
the  largest  metropolitan  cities,  and  you  will  be  impressed 
with  the  quaint  and  simple  antiquity  of  certain  usages, 
such  as  that  of  standing  in  prayer,  of  lining  out  the  hymn, 
etc.  And  it  must  be  confessed,  if  a  man  has  any  heart  of 
old-fashioned  honesty  in  him,  he  often  finds  himself  mak- 
ing comparisons  very  unfavorable  to  many  of  our  flippant 
Northern  innovations. 

Yet  there  is  some  sprinkling  of  truth,  in  Dr.  Draper's 
ponderous  disquisitions,  and  there  is  some  subtile  analogy 
between  men  and  trees.  Lucretius  seems  to  have  felt 


THE  TYPICAL  PIXEY- WOODS  MAX.  33 

some  vague  apprehension  of  this,  and  every  classical  rea- 
der will  remember  the  famous  trees  of  the  Hellespont, 
which  Pliny  fancifully  gays  grieved  for  the  death  of 
Protesilaus. 

The  typical  piney-woods  man  is  tall  and  guant,  like  the 
pines ;  sunken-breasted ;  hair  coarse  and  Jacksonian ;  fin- 
gers bony  and  long.  As  his  frosty  gray  eyes  are  the  far- 
thest remove  from  the  pale  dreamy  eyes  of  the  cypress- 
breeding  Orient,  so  is  his  voice  a  great  way  removed  from 
the  Oriental  softness,  because  it  is  resined  too  harsh.  Per- 
sian Hafiz  compares  the  soft  articulation  of  his  verses  to  a 
string  of  pearls,  and  Homer  likens  the  speech  of  Pylian 
Nestor  to  falling  snow,  but  what  was  the  voice  of  Caroli- 
nian Benton,  roaring  in  the  Senate  ?  The  piney-woods  face 
has  none  of  the  generous  roundness  and  curves  of  beauty 
of  the  oak-leaf,  but  the  hard  sharp  lines  of  the  pine-leaf. 
Wadsworth  says  of  little  Lucy : — 

"  And  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place, 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face." 

Whence,  then,  the  hardness  of  face  and  of  soul  of  the 
piney-woods  man,  but  from  the  cold  sour  roar  of  his  sol- 
emn pineries? 

The  remark  of  Ruskin,  as  to  the  traditional  valor  of  the 
dwellers  in  the  piney-woods,  applies  to  the  mountaineers, 
but  scarcely  to  the  representative  piney-woods  character 
of  the  Atlantic  coast.  The  piney-woods  have,  indeed, 
given  to  the  Republic  its  greatest  captain  (Jackson,)  but 
the  names  of  Johnson,  Vance,  Bragg,  Polk  and  Holden 
are  coupled  with  little  else  but  disaster.  The  record  of 
military  desertions  in  North  Carolina  is  more  disgraceful 
than  that  of  any  other  State,  either  North  or  South. 

How  superior  the  women  of  the  South  are  to  their 
2* 


34:  SUPERIORITY  OF  THE  WOMEN. 

brothers !  "Whatever  my  opinion  may  be  of  the  latter,  for 
the  former,  considering  the  domestic  and  literary  educa- 
tion they  received,  I  have  the  most  profound  respect. 

My  last  dinner  in  North  Carolina  was  eaten  in  a  thrifty 
farm-house,  and,  after  it  was  ended,  I  offered  the  host  a 
piece  of  currency.  He  refused  it — the  one  solitary  in- 
stance when  my  money  was  refused  in  the  Old  North 
State.  I  saw  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  offended  by  the  offer, 
so  I  urged  it  upon  him,  and  while  we  were  talking,  his  lit- 
tle wife  stood  looking  at  us  through  the  door.  At  last  she 
could  no  longer  restrain  herself.  Laughing  a  little,  but 
with  her  wonderfully  black  eyes  glittering  in  a  way  which 
was  suggestive  of  an  immense  amount  of  latent  fire,  she 
said  to  me : — 

"  You  ought  to  have  offered  it  to  me.  You  Yankees 
never  conquered  no  woman." 


CHAPTER  III. 
AMONG  THE  KICE-EATEKS. 

afternoon,  after  wading  through  an  immeasur- 
able contiguity  of  naked  sand,  set  with  scraggy 
oak  shrubs,  I  came  to  a  planter's  house  on  firm 
ground.  It  was  white  and  somewhat  pretentious,  with 
the  chimneys  outside,  but  nothing  about  it  except  some 
out-houses  of  logs.  "We  had  fine  collards  and  sweet  po- 
tatoes for  dinner,  but  I  saw  the  planter  take  boiled  rice  on 
his  plate,  and  eat  it  heartily  without  condiments,  and  then 
I  knew  I  was  in  South  Carolina. 

The  planter  was  a  little  man,  with  a  grim,  gristly  face, 
a  basilisk  eye,  and  a  snow-white  poll.  He  quoted  Carlyle 
wildly,  and  there  was  in  his  tone  a  bitterness  which  at 
times  was  almost  fierce. 

"  The  nigger,  sir,  is  a  savage  whom  the  Almighty  Ma- 
ker appointed  to  be  a  slave.  A  savage,  sir,  a  savage ! 
"With  him  free  the  South  is  ruined,  sir,  ruined.  But  we 
bide  our  time.  '  Aye !  to-day  ' — how  is  that  ?  to-day,  to- 
day— yes,  so — 

'Aye!  to-day 

Stern  is  the  tyrant's  mandate,  red  the  gaze 
That  flashes  desolation,  strong  the  arm 
That  scatters  multitudes.     To-morrow  comes  !' 

Ah — a — a — a,  '  to-morrow  comes  !'  Our  people  treasure 
in  their  deepest  hearts  a  bitter  galling  wrong  ;  and  if  this 
generation,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  pass  into  the  realm 
of  black  forgetfulness,  still  the  sacred  heritage  of  revenge 


36  A  HIGH-TONED  SOUTHRON. 

will  be  transmitted  unimpaired  from  sire  to  son,  even  to 
the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time." 

I  thought  it  best  to  let  him  run  down,  like  a  new-wound 
clock,  so  I  paid  respectful  attention  and  said  nothing. 

"  Never,  sir,  depend  on  it,  will  any  high-toned  Southron 
consent  to  remain  any  longer  than  brute  force  compels  him 
in  a  Union  controlled  by  the  nutmeg-eyed,  muslin-faced 
Yankees  who  now  control  it.  Live  in  an  alliance  with 
pump-handle-makers  and  cheese-pressers !  Honor  is  dearer 
to  every  Southron  than  the  ruddy  drops  that  visit  our  sad 
hearts,  but  what  is  honor  to  men  whose  gods  are  the  goods 
with  which  they  juggle  us,  and  whose  idolatry  is  the  art 
of  making  the  two  ends  meet?  The  winds  which  blow 
from  whatever  quarter  of  heaven  over  the  broken  and 
bloody  battlements  of  the  South  kiss  no  more  the  waving 
folds  of  the  '  Bonnie  Blue  Flag,'  and  in  its  stead  there 
flutters  in  the  breeze  an  alien  banner,  planted  by  foreign 
hands ;  but  so  long  as  there  remains  a  mother,  a  wife,  a 
sister,  to  turn  an  imploring  eye  upward  to  the  God  of  the 
injured  and  the  innocent,  so  long  as  there  lives  beneath 
the  sun,  whether  in  this  or  in  foreign  climes,  one  of  her 
wandering  and  unhappy  sons,  in  whose  veins  the  blood 
leaps  hot  at  the  mention  of  the  accursed  thing,  so  long 
shall  the  South  wait  with  confidence  the  coming  time  which 
shall  bring  in  her  revenges.  '  For  Freedom's  battle  once 
begun  ' — you  know  the  rest." 

"  You  present  certain  points  of  the  Northern  character 
forcibly,  but  do  you  think  you  do  justice  to  them  as  a 
people?" 

The  mere  sound  of  my  voice  seemed  to  wind  him  up 
again  to  the  top  of  his  bent. 

"  Justice ! — It  is  nothing,  sir,  it  is  nothing !  If  you  be- 
lieve them,  they  are  the  elected  overseers  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem. If  you  believe  the  abolition  papers,  they  can  not 
only  deliver  more  eloquent  orations  than  Tully,  but  make 


AN  UNSKILLFUL  WALTZ.  37 

sliirts  faster  than  Nessus.  They  can  indite  pleasanter  ec- 
logues than  Yirgil,  sounder  treatises  on  the  quinsy  than 
Hippocrates,  and  more  profound  logic  than  Aristotle. 
They  can  shoulder  bigger  oxen  than  Hilo,  and  sew  can- 
vas faster  than  St.  Paul.  They  can  extract  more  canned 
apple-sauce  from  sawdust  than  Dr.  Faustus,  reconstruct 
from  their  ashes  more  primordial  gimcracks  than  the  me- 
dieval alchemists,  and  twist  more  lightning  from  the  clouds 
than  the  loftiest  pine  tree  in  the  State  of  South  Carolina." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  see  I  shall  never  persuade  you  to  be- 
lieve any  good  can  come  out  of  Nazareth.  But  it  is  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  I  must  walk." 

One  of  my  last  days  in  North  Carolina  was  occupied 
chiefly  in  wading  through  shallow  swamps,  and  in  balan- 
cing over  the  widest  on  foot-logs,  from  which  one  is  mode- 
rately certain  to  slip  off  in  the  deepest  places.  On  one  of 
these,  a  very  long  one,  I  met  a  good  deal  of  rural  beauty 
in  green  calico,  and  she  was  very  obliging,  and  would  not 
drive  me  all  the  way  back  to  the  other  end,  but  showed 
me  the  fashion  of  the  country  in  these  matters.  I  took 
her  by  the  arms  and  swung  her  round,  as  in  a  waltz,  but 
the  operation  was  not  skillfully  performed,  and  we  both 
fell  into  the  water,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  log. 

But,  once  over  the  Little  Pedee,  I  emerged  suddenly  in- 
to a  country  of  noble  and  immense  plantations,  where 
King  Cotton's  hair,  like  poor  old  Lear's,  still  thinly  shook 
in  the  winds  of  winter.  "  Blow,  wind,  and  crack  your 
cheeks  "  at  him ;  he  is  king  no  more.  It  was  a  tiny  snow- 
storm, caught  and  pinioned  in  the  manner. 

Here,  every  mile  or  so,  is  a  cotton-gin,  with  its  rumbling 
bowels  of  machinery,  stilted  high  upon  posts.  Beneath  it 
is  the  sweep,  and  a  little  pickaninny  mopes  round  after  the 
mule,  holding  his  tail,  and  smiting  his  hams.  Hard  by  is 
the  press,  with  its  umbrella  of  roof,  and  its  huge  sweep, 
like  a  carpenter's  opened  compass,  straddling  down  to  the 


38  THE  PLANTER'S  HOME. 

ground,  and  its  parasol  of  roof  above  the  umbrella.  How 
it  yells  with  the  fiendish  delight  of  a  gorilla,  as  it  squee- 
zes the  bale  tighter  and  tighter  in  its  wooden  hug. 

"  You  make  a  prodigious  screeching,  uncle." 

"  Well,  yer  can't  get  along  much  in  dis  world,  boss,  'less 
yer  does  yer  own  screechin',"  said  Sambo,  picking  the 
shredded  cotton  out  of  his  wool. 

In  North  Carolina  blacksmithing,  coopery,  and  other 
sorts  of  horny-handed  industry,  were  in  noisy  blast  along 
the  wayside.  In  South  Carolina  all  this  vulgar  buzz  and 
clatter  of  greasy  mechanics  was  mellowed  down  into  the 
genteel  wThisper  of  molasses  in  the  country  store. 

In  the  Old  North  State  a  white  man  would  grub,  or  rake 
grass  and  leaves  into  the  fence-corners  for  compost — how 
handy  those  ugly  fence  corners  are,  after  all ! — and  white 
and  black  chopped  together  on  opposite  sides  of  a  pine. 
In  the  Palmetto  State  the  land-owners  sat  in  the  country 
stores,  "  chopping  straws  and  calling  it  politics ;"  while 
ragged  land- workers  strolled  in  legions  in  the  road,  "  look- 
ing for  a  job."  "  Job "  here  means  a  bottle  of  molasses 
and  a  box  of  paper  collars,  in  some  industrious  negro's 
trunk. 

In  North  Carolina  the  farmer's  humble  house  stands 
close  by  the  road,  and  the  narrow  yard  accommodates  the 
hounds,  the  geese,  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  farm,  and 
two  switched  and  haggled  rosebushes.  A  worm  fence, 
which  you  can  contemptuously  straddle  over,  with  both 
feet  touching  the  ground,  keeps  the  wood-yard  out  in  the 
road.  In  South  Carolina  the  planter's  stately  abode  stands 
haughtily  aloof,  fenced  with  thorn  or  cedar  hedge,  and 
deeply  embowered  in  pine,  and  orange,  and  holly,  and  the 
pretty  loblolly-bay.  At  evening,  as  I  passed,  sometimes 
there  came  down  to  me  from  the  far  veranda,  floating,  fly- 
ing, trilling  through  those  cones  and  braids  of  tender 
green,  the  sad,  soft  music  of  the  mourning  South. 


CARPETLESS  FLOORS.  39 

But  the  sweetest  strains  of  Munich  lyre  or  lute  of  Cre- 
mona could  not  drown  the  noisy  footfalls  of  Poverty,  as 
ho  stalked  in  his  discontent  through  those  carpetless  halls. 
On  many  a  sad  field  beside  the  Potomac  or  the  Rapidan, 
those  missing  carpets  were  mouldering  into  earth,  where 
the  houseless  soldier  slept  in  them  his  last  sleep. 

The  step  of  the  North  Carolinian,  too,  was  loud  upon 
his  rattling  floors,  but  it  fell  upon  accustomed  ears.  To 
him  who  was  more  delicately  bred  it  was  an  unwonted 
sound ;  and  I  have  sometimes  fancied  I  could  see  a  lonely 
father  start  at  the  ghostly  echo  of  his  own  tread,  as  if  it 
brought  back  to  him  the  loved  image  of  his  gallant  boy, 
who  went  down  in  the  great  slaughter. 

Ah !  those  naked  floors  of  South  Carolina !  Their  sad 
and  lonesome  sound  echoes  in  my  memory  still. 

I  staid  one  night  with  a  young  man,  whose  family  were 
away,  leaving  him  all  alone  in  a  great  mansion.  He  had 
been  a  cavalry  sergeant,  wore  his  hat  on  the  side  of  his 
head,  and  had  an  exceedingly  confidential  manner. 

"  You  see,  sir,  the  Tar-heels  haven't  no  sense  to  spare. 
Down  there  in  the  pines  the  sun  don't  more'n  half  bake 
their  heads.  We  always  had  to  show  'em  whar  the  Yan- 
kees was,  or  they'd  charge  to  the  rear,  the  wrong  way,  you 
see.  They  haven't  no  more  sense  than  to  work  in  the 
field,  just  like  a  nigger.  If  you  work  with  a  nigger,  he 
despises  you  for  equalizin'  yourself  with  him,  you  see,  and 
you  can't  control  him.  The  Tar-heels  never  could  control 
but  two  or  three  apiece." 

He  left  off  his  wild  and  rambling  gestures  for  a  moment, 
and  raked  two  more  yams  out  of  the  ashes,  which  we 
peeled,  holding  them  in  our  fingers. 

"But  any  man  is  a  dog-oned  fool  to  work,  when  he  can 
make  a  njgger  work  for  him.  If  a  man  works,  he  sweats, 
and  gets  stiff,  and  can't  dance,  you  see.  He's  a  d —  fool. 
What's  that  ?  O,  but  we  can  get  niggers  to  work  for  us. 


40  "WE  NEVER  KEEP  PEDDLERS." 

"No  high-toned  gentleman  is  goin'  to  work.  Whether  we 
can  get  niggers  or  not,  I  tell  you,  sir,  no  gentleman  is  goin' 
to  degrade  himself  to  work." 

With  this  he  leaned  far  over  toward  me,  in  a  very  con- 
fidential way,  and  rapped  with  the  end  of  his  knife  a  dozen 
times  on  the  table. 

Oh !  yes,  that  was  it,  sergeant.  In  North  Carolina 
every  tub  stood  on  its  own  bottom,  and  every  head  on  its 
own  shoulders,  even  if  they  were  black;  but  in  South 
Carolina  emancipation  took  off  every  negro's  head,  and 
every  white  man's  arms.  One  knew  well  enough  how  to 
work  through  another,  and  the  other  wrell  enough  how  to 
work  for  another ;  but  there  was  nobody,  as  in  the  Old 
North  State,  who  had  learned  how  to  work  for  himself. 

Thus  it  wras,  when  the  gusty  days  of  rebellion,  and  the 
awful  typhoons  of  battles  swept  over  her,  and  her  princely 
planters,  in  the  days  of  their  bitter  need,  saw  their  cotton 
turn  to  paper,  and  their  paper  to  dingy  rags,  and  their 
dingy  rags  to  ashes,  that  proud  South  Carolina  wras  wreck- 
ed with  such  appalling  ruin.  It  was  not  alone  the  blood 
of  their  best  sons,  the  ashes  of  their  pleasant  mansions, 
their  gold,  their  cotton,  their  jewels,  and  their  slaves,  but 
even  labor  itself,  the  very  base  and  beginning  of  existence, 
was  swept  away  in  that  wild  tempest. 

Night  overtook  me  as  I  was  passing  one  of  these  lordly 
mansions,  and  I  went  in  to  seek  for  lodgings.  There  was 
a  great  silence  over  everything,  and  my  step  rang  loud 
and  lonely  in  the  great  veranda.  A  negro  girl  answered 
the  bell,  but  straightway  there  swept  down  upon  me  a 
classically  beautiful,  black-eyed  woman,  in  deep  mourning, 
who  seemed  anxious  to  forestall  the  girl. 

"  Can  I  get  lodgings  here  to-night,  madam  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  wre  never  keep  peddlers." 

Poor  woman !  I  learned  at  the  next  house  the  cause  of 
her  testiness,  and  in  an  instant  all  my  resentment  vanished. 


A   SOUTHERN    MANSION. 


A    HOME    IN    RUINS. 


OX  THE  SAXTEE.  41 

Her  beloved  and  only  daughter  had  just  borne  a  negro 
babe. 

Having  my  curiosity  piqued  by  this  case,  I  afterward 
made  diligent  inquiry  all  the  way  across  the  South,  and  I 
will  give  the  result  for  the  benefit  of  those  whose  days 
and  nights  are  rendered  wretched  by  fear  of  amalgamation. 
I  never  found  but  this  one  instance  in  high  life,  or  even  in 
respectable  life.  In  those  districts  of  South  Carolina 
where  the  black  population  was  densest,  and  the  poor 
whites,  by  consequence,  most  degraded,  these  unnatural 
unions  were  more  frequent  than  anywhere  else.  In  every 
case,  without  exception,  it  was  a  woman  of  the  lowest 
class,  generally  a  "  sand-hiller,"  who,  having  lost  in  the 
war  her  only  supporter,  "  took  up  with  a  likely  nigger " 
to  save  her  children  from  absolute  famine.  In  South  Car- 
olina I  found  six  cases  of  such  marriages,  but  never  more 
than  one  in  any  other  State. 

Down  near  the  Santee  I  staid  with  a  planter  who  said 
he  had  owned  over  a  hundred  negroes,  and  every  indica- 
tion corroborated  his  assertion.  He  was  a  little  old  man, 
with  a  wonderfully  high  standing  collar,  and  gold-bowed 
spectacles.  His  wife  was  an  invalid,  and  his  only  servant 
was  an  awkward  wench,  a  former  field-hand ;  so  he  pres- 
ently left  me  alone  in  the  great  carpetless  room,  and  mys- 
teriously vanished.  At  supper  he  poured  the  coifee,  and  I 
strongly  suspect  he  made  it  himself. 

Next  morning  it  gave  me  much  pleasure  to  pay  him  a 
dollar,  for  he  had  earned  it  personally,  and  was,  moreover, 
struggling  to  "  accept  the  situation  "  in  a  manner  that  was 
worthy  of  encouragement.  He  snatched  it  out  of  my 
hand,  as  if  he  despised  both  it  and  himself.  With  an  al- 
most fierce  glitter  in  his  eye,  he  said : — 

"  I  expect  to  see  the  day,  sir,  when  I  can  exchange  my 
bluebacks  for  greenbacks,  dollar  for  dollar ;  and  I  have  a 
roll  of  $100,000  laid  away  for  that  purpose." 


42  APPROACH  TO  CHARLESTON. 

Can  it  be,  I  wondered,  that — 

"  Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 
Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs," 

to  whom  the  Government  of  this  our  great  Republic  still 
seems  so  utter  a  farce  as  that  ? 

Between  Florence  and  Charleston  there  are  dismal  belts 
of  piney  woods.  In  one  of  these  I  talked  with  a  poor 
yellow  "  sand-hiller,"  who  was  shivering  so  with  ague 
that  he  could  scarcely  keep  the  pipe  in  his  mouth.  He 
told  me  the  astonishing  fact  that  he  did  not  hear  of  the 
first  capture  of  Sumpter  till  three  months  after  its  occur- 
rence. Speaking  of  one  of  his  rich  neighbors,  he  said : — 

"  He  swore  he  could  drink  all  the  blood  as  would  be 
spilled  in  the  war ;  but  long  befo'  Sharman  come  his  old- 
est gal  was  a  ploughin'  corn  with  the  bull,  and  his  wife  a 
bobbin'  fur  catfish  in  a  cypress  swamp." 

Be  it  known  to  the  reader  that  to  seek  caifish  in  a  cy- 
press swamp  betrays  great  inexperience ;  and  it  amused 
the  poor  man  so  much,  despite  his  ague,  that  he  almost 
shook  himself  out  of  his  chair. 

The  live-oaks  gradually  thickened  among  the  pines,  as  I 
approached  Charleston,  which  I  did  not  enter  till  after 
nightfall.  I  rose  early  next  morning,  and  went  down  to 
the  end  of  the  narrow  tongue  of  land  which  is  thrust 
down  between  the  Ashley  and  the  Cooper.  Sitting  on  the 
low  drab-colored  walls  of  the  Battery,  I  watched  the  sun 
make  pleasant  summer  around  the  head  of  Sumter,  then 
all  along  the  low,  dark,  piney  walls  of  the  harbor.  Not  a 
sail  was  spread  in  the  idle  air,  and  only  a  single  long  wher- 
ry sped  lightly  over  the  steel-gray  waters,  carrying  a  bone 
in  its  mouth.  The  birth-place  of  the  great  rebellion  still 
slumbered  in  the  deep  sluggard  languor  of  Southern  cities 
on  a  winter  morning. 

Away  down  the  harbor,  broken  and  blackened  by  the 


REMINISCENCE  OF  SECESSION  TIMES.  43 

lightnings  of  the  ships,  standing  haughtily  aloof  from  the 
beach,  like  a  discrowned  king  still  spurning  the  touch  of 
the  swinish  multitude,  Sumter  sullenly  glooms  above  the 
waters.  Over  against  it  is  Moultrie,  buttressing  its  vast 
strength  upon  the  coast,  and  glowering  through  its  stony 
eyes  upon  the  bay  with  a  hard  unwinking  stare.  Grim 
twins  are  they !  terrible  eye-teeth  in  this  whilom  jaw  of 
Disunion ! 

Back  among  the  ruins  of  the  great  burnt  district  I  found 
two  or  three  negroes  poking  and  grubbing  in  the  crum- 
bled walls ;  also  a  white  man,  who  gave  me  the  following 
reminiscence  of  the  heated  times  of  secession  : — 

"  Sam,  wha'  fur  de  white  folks  seeedin'  P 

"  Go  'long,  you  fool  nigger !  Dey  aint  secedin',  dey's 
exceedin'." 

"Wha'  fur  dey  exceedin',  den?" 

'•  Oh,  you  don't  know  nuthin',  nohow.  De  white  folks 
got  rights,  haint  dey  ?  Well,  den,  when  dey  go  out  ob  de 
Union  to  git  deir  rights,  dat's  concedin'." 

"  But  when  dey  go  out  ob  de  Union  to  git  deir  rights, 
and  gits  whaled,  what's  dat  ?" 

"  Why  dat — dat  'ar  " — scratching  his  wool — "  you  fool 
nigger,  dat's  secedin'." 

Charleston  was  a  city,  first,  of  idle  ragged  negroes,  who, 
with  no  visible  means  of  support  nevertheless  sent  an 
astonishing  multitude  of  children  to  school ;  second,  of 
small  dealers,  laborers,  and  German  artisans,  starving  on 
the  rebel  custom ;  third,  of  widows  and  children  of  plant- 
ers, keeping  respectable  boarding-houses,  or  pining  in 
hopeless  and  unspeakable  penury ;  fourth,  of  young  men 
loafing  in  the  saloons,  and  living  on  the  profits  of  their 
mother's  boarding-houses;  fifth,  of  Jews  and  Massachu- 
setts merchants,  doing  well  on  the  semi-loyal  and  negro 
custom;  sixth,  of  utterly  worthless  and  accursed  politi- 
cal adventurers  from  the  North,  Bureau  leeches,  and  pro- 


44  A  SOUTHERN  PICTURE. 

miscuous  knaves,  all  fattening  on  the  humiliation  of  the 
South  and  the  credulity  of  the  freedmen. 

Let  us,  in  fancy,  ascend  in  a  shallop  the  Edisto  or  the 
Pacatalico,  and  behold  a  landscape  passing  all  the  beauty 
of  florid  Cole  or  tropic  Cnurch.  It  shall  be  in  the  spring, 
before  the  swamp  malaria — more  deadly  than  the  breath 
of  the  bohun  upas — has  banished  the  whites  to  the  up- 
lands ;  and  while  there  are  plenty  of  lilies  waltzing  and 
winking  above  the  waves. 

In  the  foreground  of  the  lagoon  the  green  lush  waves 
of  the  rice  chase  each  other  in  languid  softness,  and  white- 
clad  laborers  bow  themselves  to  their  toil  between  the  rows, 
or  punt  and  paddle  their  clumsy  bateaux  along  the  ditches. 
The  idiotic  brutishness  which  sits  on  the  faces  of  these 
poor  rice-eaters,  and  their  grunting,  gutteral,  sea-island 
patois,  might  make  you  believe  yourself  on  the  deadly 
shores  of  the  Senegal.  Far  across  the  rice-field,  where  it 
swells  like  a  long  Atlantic  wave  to  meet  the  upland,  the 
planter's  mansion  towers  white  above  its  groves  of  tender 
green,  now  sprinkled  over  with  a  mellow  orange  snow  of 
blossoms.  Beyond  and  higher  up  the  grand  old  pines  hold 
up  their  arms  toward  the  soft  blue  sky,  and  swear  by  the 
beautiful  sun  that  no  evil  shall  ever  befall  this  earthly 
Paradise. 

"We  disembark.  The  mansion  is  girt  about  on  three 
sides  with  a  deep  and  breezy  veranda,  "  rose-wreathed, 
vine-encircled,"  through  whose  leafy  trellises  sleepily  sift 
all  day,  into  open  windows,  odors  of  a  mellow  and  lan- 
guishing sweetness,  and  at  night  the  coolness  of  the  briny 
sea.  Ten  thousand  butterflies  and  humming-birds,  tricked 
in  their  brilliant  gauds,  and  house-keeping  bees,  more 
plain  in  attire,  flutter  endlessly  over  the  painted  flowers, 
every  one  of  wrhich  is  pumped  a  hundred  times  a  day. 

We  stroll  down  curving  alleys,  between  the  dainty 
privet  hedges,  which  are  here  allowed  to  shoot  into  a  grace- 


ANOTHER  PICTURE.  45 

fill  cone,  and  there  to  arch  above  a  gateway  which  invites 
us  to  enter.  We  wander  on  and  on,  through  another  and 
another,  by  many  a  luring  pathway,  among  acres  of  roses, 
and  shady  bowers,  and  unnamed  geometric  tricks  of — 

"  Damask- work,  and  deep  inlay 
Of  braided  blooms," 

gay  with  brilliant  lily-like  amaryllis,  and  white  and  orange 
woodbines,  and  pittosporum,  with  its  soft-green,  honey- 
edged  leaves.  Here,  the  columnar  palmetto  shakes  its 
sword-tipped  vanes  in  the  breeze  with  a  cool  whispering 
rustle;  there,  the  golden  lotus  its  crest  with  a  dreamy 
murmur  ;  yonder,  the  banana  its  giant  leaves  with  many  a 
lazy  unwieldy  flap.  Hard  by,  the  century-plant  heaves 
its  huge  club-leaves,  gray  with  the  lapse  of  forgotten  win- 
ters— an  ancient  anchorite,  living  on  its  austere  and  monk- 
ish life  fourscore  years  among  all  these  trooping  and  splen- 
did generations,  which  come  and  go  as  the  dews  of  the 
morning.  The  orange,  like  a  true  daughter  of  the  South, 
weaves  a  little  tender  green  embroidery  for  its  last  year's 
gown,  and  thinks,  what  with  its  ornaments  of  native  gold, 
it  will  do  for  another  year.  A  bevy  of  golden-haired 
wood-nymphs  roll  the  plate,  or  play  at  the  mystic  Druidi- 
cal  game  of  the  South — Honon,  Cronon,  Thealogos — be- 
neath the  ancestral  live-oaks,  which  wag  their  old  gray 
beards  of  moss  with  pleasant  laughter  at  the  gay  sports 
below. 

"  Merry  suithe  it  is  in  the  halle, 
When  the  beards  waveth  alle." 

"What  is  that  picture  now  ? 

The  magnificent  avenue  of  live-oaks,  if  the  ruthless 
tomahawk  of  the  war  has  spared  so  much,  with  their  hoary 
beards,  like  Barbarossa's  in  the  cave,  sweeping  and  sway- 
ing in  the  mournful  breeze,  conduct  through  a  rank  and 
noxious  jungle  of  weeds  to  a  heap  of  ashes.  The  two 


46  A  RUINED  HOME  AND  FAMILY. 

blackened  chimneys,  like  lonely  unpropitiated  ghosts  of 
this  once  happy  home,  stand  bleakly  alone  near  the  cabins 
of  the  blacks,  as  if  to  summon  them  to  vengeance.  But 
they  summon  all  in  vain,  whether  the  freedmen  to  ven- 
geance, or  the  master  to  return.  Far  off  beside  the  Rapi- 
dan  or  James  he  slumbers  in  his  forgotten  grave,  which 
many  a  summer's  sun  has  covered  over  with  grassy  thatch, 
and  his  dull  ear  is  not  more  insensible  to  the  wail  of  his 
houseless  orphans  than  is  the  happy  freedman  to  solicita- 
tions for  his  revenge. 

The  sounds  of  joyous  music,  melodious  as  the  echoes  of 
the  Mseonian  song,  and  the  sweet  trill  of  childish  laughter, 
float  no  more  through  the  orange  groves  on  the  wings  of 
the  evening  breeze ;  but  all  the  air  holds  a  tepid  and  sickly 
stillness,  which  quivers  now  and  then  with  a  wintry  ripple. 
The  hedges  are  wrenched  and  wrung  into  hideous  shape- 
lessness,  and  all  the  pride  and  the  glory  of  the  gardens  is 
eaten  by  hungry  mules.  The  waters  of  the  swamps  flap 
and  swash  unhindered  through  the  broken  mains,  while 
loathsome  sirens  and  turtles  crawl  among  the  rasping  sed- 
ges and  the  slimy  pools.  Acres  upon  acres  of  abandoned 
rice-swamps  are  dun  with  weeds,  or  black  with  rotting  and 
reeking  lilies,  and  dark  with  pestilence  and  death. 

The  widow  and  her  orphans — ah,  where  are  they  ? 

Happy  for  them  if  they,  too,  sleep  in  the  quiet  grave, 
where  the  brutal  pillaging  and  rage  of  contending  armies 
terrify  no  more. 

In  the  grocery  it  is  you  must  look  for  the  rising  states- 
men. You  shall  find  them  in  a  circle,  with  their  long  lank 
hair,  unsunned  faces,  and  easy,  flippant,  laughing  man- 
ner, comparing  notes  on  the  doings  of  their  respective, 
thieving,  lying  freedrneii,  and  narrating  histories  of  their 
regiments. 

The  typical  man  of  the  State  is  the  great  rice  or  cotton 
planter,  like  him  I  talked  with  in  Marion.  Haughty,  iras- 


IX  THE  OVERSEER'S  CABIX.  47 

cible,  but  prodigally  hospitable  and  sunny  to  his  friends,  he 
has  a  type  close  at  hand  in  his  cotton-balls,  which,  when 
they  are  touched  by  the  frost,  straightway  so  swell  with 
rage  that  they  burst  their  garments. 

Yet  there  is  a  strange  sombreness  in  the  South  Caroli- 
nian mind.  Let  the  reader  recall  the  Biblical  studies  of 
Allston,  the  grim  and  ruthless  logic  of  Calhoun,  and  the 
absence  of  humor  in  the  novels  of  Simms.  They  were 
the  Puritans  of  the  South.  In  their  very  refinement 
there  was  an  alkalinity  which  withered  the  nonconformist. 
We  cannot  forget  that  Puritan  and  Cavalier  were  both 
Englishmen,  and  that,  if  one  used  a  fanaticism  of  religion, 
the  other  used  a  fanaticism  of  gentility. 

But,  alas  for  South  Carolina,  the  current  generation  of 
this  close-bred,  martial,  alkaline  race  is  almost  extinct. 
Choleric  old  rice-planters,  with  cottony  polls,  I  saw  ;  class- 
ically molded,  pale,  saddened,  but  heroic  women,  and  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  girls,  I  saw  in  Charleston,  all  in  mourn- 
ing w^eeds ;  but  the  youths,  who  should  continue  the  intense 
but  erring  vigor  of  South  Carolina  in  another  generation 
— where  were  they  ? 

Never  can  I  forget  that  miserable  walk  from  Charleston 
to  Savannah;  drenched  with  ceaseless  rains;  wading  in 
endless  swamps;  twisting  myself  in  the  most  unseemly 
monkey-jumps,  to  keep  on  the  foot-logs ;  scared  at  night 
by  the  awful  thunders,  which  cracked  right  overhead  in 
the  vast  and  lonely  forest,  and  the  lightnings  splitting  in 
the  swash  of  the  rain.  But  the  ghastly  ruin,  and  the 
silence  of  death  were  more  terrible  than  all  beside.  Be- 
tween the  two  cities  there  were  only  two  planter's  houses, 
both  built  after  the  war. 

There  are  white  men  who  can  live  in  these  swamps 
through  the  summer,  as  overseers,  and  I  staid  with  one 
such,  who  may  be  taken  as  a  representative  of  his  class. 
He  lived  in  the  edge  of  the  piney-woods,  where  they  joined 


48  GENEROSITY  OF  THE  MARION  PLANTERS. 

the  swamp,  in  a  cabin  a  little  larger  than  the  negro  quar- 
ters about  it,  with  two  rooms,  but  not  ceiled  or  wainscoted. 
We  bivouaked  sheer  on  the  floor,  where  the  wind  swoop- 
ed and  howled  down  upon  us  through  the  open  gables. 

His  cook  was  a  rice  negro,  decently  clad  in  plantation 
cloth,  but  of  the  most  hideous  Guinea  physiognomy.  He 
talked  volubly  with  the  overseer  about  a  love  affair,  told 
him  how  another  negro  had  come  between  him  and  his 
soul's  beloved,  Eliza,  and  how,  by  beating  him  soundly,  he 
won  Eliza  who  was  at  first  favorable  to  the  other.  He 
acted  out  the  whole  proceeding  with  graphic  gestures,  and 
his  eyes  would  roll  at  times  with  a  wild  and  idiotic  glare 
which  made  me  feel  uncomfortable.  What  a  specimen  of 
savage  energy  for  a  man  who  ate  absolutely  nothing  but 
rice! 

As  in  the  Old  North  State,  no  son  of  the  piney-woods 
ever  refused  my  money  for  his  victuals,  but  the  hospitality 
of  the  overseer  and  middle  planters  class  was  green  and 
unwithering  as  their  palmetto.  A  poor  North  Carolinian 
woman — and  she  was  ardently  loyal,  too — spoke  to  me  in 
such  glowing  words  of  the  large  Marion  planters  as  made 
me  a  pleasant  surprise.  One  year  of  the  wrar  there  was 
no  maize  in  her  state,  and  she,  like  many  of  her  neighbors, 
put  money  in  her  sacks,  and  victuals  for  the  way,  and  went 
down,  like  the  sons  of  Jacob  into  Egypt. 

"  Three  times  I  had  to  go,"  she  said,  "  and  nary  time 
would  they  take  my  money.  They  allus  give  me  all  the 
corn  my  hoss  could  pack,  and  wunst  cold  victuals  to  last 
me  back  agin." 

During  the  war  South  Carolina  committed  two  egregious 
offenses  against  the  Castor  and  Pollux  of  the  South,  Vir- 
ginia and  Georgia ;  first,  in  killing  Stonewall  Jackson  by 
mistake  ;  second,  in  refusing  to  send  militia  over  to  assist 
the  Georgians  in  making  head  against  Sherman.  Hence 
it  was  greatly  the  mode,  particularly  in  Georgia,  to  say 


SOUTH  CAROLINIANS  IN  THE  WAR.  4.9 

bitter  tilings  of  the  little  sister,  as  being  the  author  but 
not  the  finisher  of  the  secession.  Some  of  the  upland  regi- 
ments, like  the  North  Carolinians,  had  too  much  earth  in 
their  brains  to  war  well ;  but  the  luxurious  and  hair-brain- 
ed sons  of  the  lowland  planters,  standing  on  the  perilous 
edge  of  battle,  taught  America  to  fight. 

Not  one  whit  do  I  detract  from  the  noble,  the  sublime 
constancy  of  the  Union  armies  by  insisting  that  for  straight 
fighting  in  the  field,  for  brilliant  and  daring  charges,  the 
rebels  had  no  equals  on  the  continent.  As  my  patriotism 
hates  rebellion,  so  does  my  soul  despise  that  littleness 
which  would  deny  to  a  fallen  adversary  one  tittle  of  his 
deservings. 

But  after  the  battle — then  is  the  test  of  greatness. 
Then  order  and  continuity  conquer.  The  women  of  the 
South  were  greater  before  the  battle,  but  their  Northern 
sisters  were  greater  after. 


3 


CHAPTER  IY. 
OYEE  THE  EED  HILLS. 

little  gentleman,  once  a  Major  on  Beauregard's 
staff,  gave  me  the  best  description  of  Savannah 
that  I  have  seen.  "  Savannah,"  said  he  "  is  a 
very  elegant  and  retired  country  residence,  which  a  very 
absurd  railroad  is  trying  to  make  into  a  cotton  warehouse." 
This  agrees  also  with  N.  P.  Willis,  who  calls  Savannah 
the  City  of  Shade  and  Silence. 

The  thing  which  seemed  to  me  most  curious  was  to  see 
such  prodigious  quantities  of  cotton  whisked  about  beneath 
a  shadow  so  gloomy  and  so  cemeterial.  But  this  is  only 
along  the  quays.  The  vast  and  sombre  evergreen  oaks 
roof  in  all  the  streets  alike ;  but  farther  back  the  cushion- 
ing sand  stills  the  noise  of  the  few  carriages  into  a  ghostly 
silence,  and  only  now  and  then  a  pale  woman,  stricken  and 
mourning,  but  proud  as  a  Boman,  glides  blackly  along  like 
a  spectre. 

The  principal  street  is  like  the  "  long-drawn  aisle  "  of  a 
cathedral,  stretching  away  beneath  a  superb  groined  arch 
of  old  oaks,  in  which  the  marble  statues  in  the  middle  of 
the  street  stand  like  silent  worshipers.  High  overhead,  in 
the  mellow  lamplight,  sweeps  and  sways  the  long  gray 
moss,  as  if  it  knew  the  secrets  of  primeval  years,  and  were 
nodding  and  whispering  mysteriously  about  them.  Far 
out  in  the  unpeopled  darkness  of  the  park,  I  sat  a  while 
beneath  the  solemn  shadow  of  the  pines,  and  as  I  looked 
out  through  their  dark  tops,  slowly  rocking  against  the 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  ATLANTIC.  51 

stars,  in  the  sweet  and  soothing  quietness  of  that  hour 
I  seemed  to  hear  no  longer  a  cold  roar,  as  in  the  Old 
North  State,  but  rather — 

"  The  still  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh,  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue." 

Savannah  was  even  more  crammed  than  Charleston  with 
plantation  negroes,  who  were  thumped  and  banged  by  cit- 
izen and  soldier  alike.  All  along  my  route  the  freedmen 
were  drifting,  wave  upon  wave,  driven  by  a  fatal  destiny 
toward  the  coast,  the  region  of  malaria,  semi-idiocy,  death. 

One  day  I  went  down  in  a  fishing-smack  to  take  a  final 
and  formal  leave  of  the  ocean.  A  raw  and  gusty  wind 
hustled  our  little  craft  bowling  cherrily  dowrn  the  bloody 
Savannah ;  and  as  we  returned,  now  dodging  this  way, 
now  that,  among  the  green  islets  of  rushes,  I  looked  back 
over  my  shoulder,  and  bade  a  chattering,  shivering  fare- 
well to  the  Atlantic. 

Next  day  the  capricious  calendar  of  Savannah  whisked 
us  in  a  fair  day,  and  I  wound  up  my  resolution  for  the 
Pacific.  Now,  said  I,  Lancelot  Gabbo,  use  your  legs. 

The  first  evening  out  of  the  city  I  stopped  at  a  great 
wooden  house,  with  half  of  the  veranda  floor  rotted  away, 
rags  in  the  windows,  and  not  a  carpet  in  the  house.  A 
little,  green-eyed,  sharp-nosed,  wrinkled  old  woman  presi- 
ded at  supper,  and  just  as  I  was  sitting  down  on  the  end 
of  the  long  bench,  I  let  out  the  unlucky  secret  that  I  wras 
from  the  North.  On  the  instant  she  set  down  the  coffee- 
pot, and,  standing  right  over  me,  began  : — 

"  O,  you're  a  Yankee,  be  ye  ?  You're  one  of  them  Yan- 
kees !  "Well,  I  haint  got  no  sympathy  with  ye.  A  Yankee, 
be  ye  ?  Well,  I  haint  seen  a  Yankee  now  goin'  on  three 
year,  and  I've  got  mighty  full  of  bad  feelings,  but  I  never 
thought  I'd  ever  see  one  of  'em  in  my  house,  so  as  I  could 
jest  tell  him  what  I  think.  O,  them  beasts !  That  was 


£2  ALONG  THE  OGEECHEE. 

some  of  your  Yankees,  it  was,  done  that !  Tuk  my  pots 
and  busted  'em  up — pure  ugliness,  it  wos — and  tuk  my 
new  cullender,  that  wasn't  no  use  to  'em  on  the  face  of  the 
livin'  y earth,  and  punched  holes  into  it  with  nails,  they 
did,  jest  in  pure  ugliness.  Destructed  every  last  thing  we 
had  on  the  face  of  the  livin'  yearth !  And  then  jest  to 
think  of  'em,  their  black  nigger  soldiers  fur  to  stop  a  poor 
woman  on  the  road,  jest  gwine  to  Savannah  with  some 
eggs  fur  to  buy  dishes  agin;  and  make  me  stand  four 
hours  in  the  hot  sunshine,  with  the  big,  greasy  corporal  a 
settin'  in  a  chair,  and  me  a  standin'  up !  O,  them  beasts ! 
but  they  wouldn't  have  done  it,  for  niggers  was  larnt  bet- 
ter manners,  but  them  Yankees  put  'em  up  to  it." 

And  so  forth,  for  at  least  ten  minutes,  before  she  stop- 
ped for  breath.  Munching  meekly  away,  I  had  nearly 
finished  all  I  could  stand  of  the  burnt  pone  and  the  beef- 
steak fried  in  grease,  before  the  tempest  subsided.  At  last 
she  sat  down,  apparently  amazed  at  my  quietness ;  but  her 
wrath  had  expended  itself  like  a  wind  which  strikes  no 
wall.  I  had  to  listen  to  plenty  of  these  histories  yet,  but 
by  hearing  her  through,  I  made  her  one  of  my  most  devo- 
ted friends. 

Ninety  miles  I  followed  the  railroad  in  its  dismal  track 
along  the  Ogeechee.  How  nice  and  convenient  it  is  to 
have  the  stations  just  ten  miles  apart.  Are  these  grimy, 
gray,  pig-rooted  villages,  dropped  down  into  augur-holes  in 
these  owl-inhabited  piney-woods,  the  great  Empire  State  ? 
I  wondered.  No,  it  is  only  her  brachial  artery,  running 
down  ninety  miles  to  her  right-hand  Savannah.  These 
mighty  cotton-trains,  snorting  and  yelling,  like  a  caravan 
of  white  elephants,  twelve  times  a  day  through  this  mise- 
rable wilderness — these  are  the  pulsations  of  Georgia's  big 
heart  of  hills. 

This  led  me  up  from  the  endless,  dreary  level  of  the 
coast,  into  the  red  and  rolling  hills.  Down  on  the  weary 


A  BLACK  CITY.  53 

flats  of  South  Carolina  the  Juggernaut  car  of  the  slave- 
lords  crushed  the  masses  utterly ;  but  up  among  these  good 
red  hills  of  Georgia  there  lived  many  a  ruddy  farmer, 
above  whose  head  its  wheels  rolled  high  and  harmless. 

Herein  was  the  reason  why  the  heart  of  Savannah  was 
not  so  utterly  eaten  out  by  the  war  as  was  that  of  unhap- 
py Charleston.  It  drew  replenishment  from  a  sounder 
middle  class  in  the  back  country. 

An  old  negro,  ploughing  on  a  hill,  stopped  his  mule  and 
came  down  to  #sk  the  time  of  day.  It  was  only  a  pretense 
for  talk,  which  I  found  would  last  till  night,  if  I  were  only 
willing.  Pointing  to  his  furrows,  I  said : — 

"  Uncle,  you  must  have  made  those  after  dark,  they  are 
so  crooked." 

"  O,"  said  he,  laughing  immoderately,  "  nebber  see  dem 
ofo'  ?  Ya !  ya !  ya !  Dirt  all  run  down  hill,  sah,  ya !  ya ! 
ef  you  ploughs  straight  down  hill." 

Georgia  approaches  much  nearer  to  Yankee  thriftiness 
than  does  South  Carolina — uses  more  industry.  In  both 
the  Carolinas  I  saw  not  one  sawmill,  but  here  there  were 
many,  whizzing  and  whistling  among  odorous  mountains 
of  lumber,  and  sending  up  their  long  diminuendo  groans. 

When  I  passed  through  Macon,  it  was  undoubtedly  the 
blackest  city  in  the  Union.  As  houseflies  gather  in  the 
warm  eastern  casement  on  a  winter  morning,  thaw  their 
frosted  thighs,  chafe  and  scrape  their  toes  on  their  wings 
till  they  are  limber,  then  essay  little  jumps  across  a  pane, 
so  keeping  up  a  cheerful  buzz  till  noon,  when  they  migrate 
to  the  western  windows,  so  did  the  negroes  in  the  streets, 
vice  versa. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?"  I  heard  one  citizen  ask  of  another, 
soon  after  I  arrived. 

Without  looking  at  his  watch,  he  pointed  to  the  dusky 
multitude  on  the  east  side  of  the  street,  and  said  "  I  see 
they  have  moved  across ;  it  must  be  about  one  o'clock." 


54:  PLANTATION  NEGROES  IN  MACON. 

They  were  all  "  waiting  to  be  liired ;"  yet  the  rascals 
were  most  effectually  giving  the  lie  to  any  stories  of  star- 
vation by  their  oily,  sooty  faces,  for  the  negro  quickly 
shows  "  the  mettle  of  his  pasture,"  by  turning  ashen  when 
thinly  fed.  You  could  easily  tell  the  plantation  hands 
from  the  original  Macon  negroes,  for  the  former  lay  in  lazy 
torpor  all  along  the  pavements  choking  the  passage,  while 
the  latter  would  gather  in  knots  about  the  lamp-posts,  and 
now  and  then  a  guffaw  would  explode  in  the  midst,  and 
nearly  throw  them  all  over  backward.  What  an  immeas- 
urable blossom  of  grins  can  grow  on  the  face  of  your  jolly 
African ! 

Macon  is  a  clean,  and  pretty,  and  airy  city,  of  bright 
colors,  and  broad  streets,  and  plenty  of  sunshine.  You 
seldom  see  any  "  crackers,"  as  in  Atlanta.  The  faces  are 
ruddier  and  heartier  than  in  Savannah,  and  the  people  not 
so  stiff  and  grim,  but  more  humorsome,  and  less  harsh 
and  rigorous  toward  the  negroes.  Said  a  gay  and  dapper 
little  reporter  to  me : — 

"  A  Yankee  can  marry  $100,000  in  Macon,  but  he  can't 
marry  $50,000  in  Savannah." 

It  is  as  notable  for  its  mulberries  as  Savannah  for  its 
oaks.  With  knarled,  and  ridged,  and  warty  trunks,  scar- 
red with  chaps  and  chinks  of  every  idler's  blade — for 
whittling  is  scarcely  less  a  part  of  a  Georgian  than  of  a 
Nantucket  education — they  stand  in  rows  along  the  sunken 
streets,  and  mercifully  shade  the  fiery  sand  in  summer. 

Between  Macon  and  its  counterpart  Columbus,  there 
stretches  a  great  plateau,  of  a  dark-red  soil,  very  deep  and 
fertile.  In  all  this  noble  country  I  did  not  see  a  fortieth 
part  of  the  negroes  I  saw  in  Macon  alone.  A  few  were  at 
work  in  the  cotton-fields,  drowsily  thwacking  down  the 
cotton-stalks  for  the  spring  ploughing. 

I  walked  awhile  with  a  freedman  and  his  wife,  who  were 
taking  a  journey  of  fifty  miles  to  see  a  Bureau  agent. 


A  PUMFOOZLEJ)  FREEDMAN.  55 

They  providently  carried  their  victuals  for  the  journey, 
whereat  I  wondered ;  but  I  found  they  had  learned  such 
prudence  in  North  Carolina.  He  was  a  taciturn,  hard- 
headed,  resolute  negro,  and  was  going  in  quest  of  justice, 
a  thing  hard  for  a  freedman  to  find  in  the  South — far  har- 
der to  find  than  pity.  He  told  his  story  laconically  : — 

"  You  see,  sah,  I  raised  cotton  with  Dr.  Majors  on  sheers 
one-quarter  an'  found.  "When  it  come  to  dividin',  he  tried 
to  pumfoozle  me  'bout  de  figgerin',  an'  let  on  as  if  I'd  eat 
up  all  my  sheer  in  de  'visions  he  sole  me.  I  wasn't  gwine 
to  be  pumfoozled  no  sich  way,  sah,  so  I  jest  straddled  de 
bales,  but  he  got  de  Sheriff,  and  drug  me  off,  and  tuk  de 
cotton." 

"  Some  of  the  negroes  do  eat  up  all  their  share  by  the 
time  the  cotton  is  picked,  don't  they  2" 

"  Some  does.  Dey  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  figgerin', 
an'  runs  in  debt  for  mo'  'n  their  sheer,  an5  then  growls 
when  they  takes  it  away.  But  I  done  no  sich  way." 

"  Do  the  planters  give  you  a  plenty  of  bacon?" 

"  No,  sah ;  dey  don't  give  a  nigger  nuff  to  grease  his 
mouf  aroun'  de  outside,  let  alone  de  inside."  Then  look- 
ing at  my  traveling-bag,  he  said  "  haint  got  nothin  to 
drink  dah,  boss  ?" 

"  Not  a  drop.  Now  that  you  are  free,  I  suppose  no- 
body gives  you  anything  but  what  you  work  for  ?" 

"  No,  sah ;  and  don't  git  all  dat." 

I  really  wished  that  I  had  something,  that  I  might  cause 
to  shine  around  him,  for  once  at  least,  the  "  light  of  other 
days." 

It  is  a  strange  fact  that,  in  the  universally  tippling  South, 
I  have  never  seen  a  negro  drunk.  They  may  have  been 
in  the  days  of  slavery,  but  as  freedmen  they  are  sober, 
though  it  is  often  because  they  have  no  money. 

In  Columbus  I  saw  my  freedman  again,  and  he  cursed 
the  Bureau  agent  bitterly. 


56  A  NIGHT  AT  CAPTAIN  TRUHITT'S. 

"  "Wouldn't  lift  a  finger,  sah,  'less  I  give  him  fifteen 
dollars  fust." 

As  the  representative  Georgian,  let  us  visit  Captain 
Xerxes  Podalirius  Truhitt.  He  shall  be  about  a  twenty 
bale  planter,  employing  three  or  four  freedmen,  with  whom 
his  sons  occasionally  labor  in  the  fields,  in  shirt-sleeves. 
As  I  approach  his  house,  several  sad-eyed  hounds,  with 
ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew,  come  tumbling 
over  the  rail-fence,  with  long  melancholy  cries.  A  woman 
comes  to  the  door,  with  a  pipe  in  her  mouth,  and  with 
much  shrill  clamor  drowns  the  sweet  music  of  the  hounds. 

The  Georgia  farmer's  house  is  of  an  invariable  pattern, 
wooden  and  paintless,  somewhat  longish,  and  with  two  flat 
wing-roofs,  one  of  which  covers  the  "piazza,"  parallel 
with  the  road.  This  contains  the  spinning-wheel,  saddles 
and  bridles,  and  a  water  shelf,  on  which  there  are  two 
cedar  buckets  with  shining  brass  hoops,  and  a  long-hand- 
led gourd,  bound  around  the  rim  with  linen. 

The  body  of  the  house  contains  two  rooms ;  there  are 
twin  bed-rooms  under  the  rear  wing-roof,  and  one  of  them 
has  the  "  spare-bed,"  covered  with  a  quilt  on  which  there 
are  sundry  crooked-necked  gourds  depicted.  There  is  an 
immense  bed  of  feathers.  Ah  me  !  how  often,  after  eat- 
ing salt  pork,  I  have  smacked  my  dry  lips,  and  lain  thrust 
down  into  the  feathers  in  the  shape  of  an  ox-bow,  with  my 
head  pointing  up  toward  heaven,  and  my  heels  also. 

They  always  cook  and  eat  in  a  log-cabin  behind  the 
house,  as  if  it  were  an  operation  they  were  ashamed  of. 
Here  are  pots  and  kettles,  sooty  and  innumerable.  There 
is  one  long  clothless  table,  with  a  bench  on  either  side,  on 
which  the  numerous  little  cotton-heads  range  themselves. 

We  sit  by  to  supper.  A  frowzy  ragged  wench  shuffles 
drowsily  about,  handing  coffee. 

"  Have  fry  on  your  plate,"  says  the  host,  shoving  to- 
ward me  a  platter  of  leathery  bacon. 


.      BY  THE  PLANTER'S  FIRESIDE.  57 

"  Have  hominy." 

He  always  speaks  as  if  commanding  you,  and  omits  the 
partitive  some.  The  wench  awkwardly  thrusts  a  cup  of 
coffee  over  my  shoulder.  The  mistress  takes  one  of  the 
pones  and  breaks  it  up  small — cuts  it  never. 

"  Have  bread." 

In  the  centre  of  the  table  there  is  a  saucer  of  pale,  sickly- 
looking  butter,  smoothly  rounded  up,  but  without  a  single 
crease  or  dimple  tasty  women  know  so  well  how  to  im- 
print. The  younger  children  often  look  wistfully  at  it,  and 
then  at  the  mother,  but  are  repressed  by  a  frown.  I  probe 
it  gently  once,  but  do  it  no  more.  It  is  a  mistake,  I  find. 
Its  uses  are  purely  ornamental.  Next  morning  it  appears 
again,  marred  with  that  solitary  gash — that  unkind  cut. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  meal  a  thin  pone  comes  hot  and 
smoking  to  the  table. 

"  Have  more  bread." 

At  last  the  white  butter  is  passed  around  in  solemn 
silence,  of  course,  untouched.  It  is  a  signal  that  supper 
is  ended. 

In  the  sitting-room  there  blazes  on  the  hearth  a  huge 
pile  of  logs,  with  their  ribs  stuck  full  of  pine  splinters. 
Ah !  these  Southern  people  are  more  musical  than  we 
Yankees.  Like  Alonzo  of  Arragon,  we  always  demand 
old  wood  to  burn,  which  yields  us  only  spiteful  staccato 
popping ;  but  the  green  logs  of  the  South  shed  the  soul  of 
music  from  the  great  fireplace,  piping,  whistling,  fizzing, 
purring,  in  melodious  querulousness,  as  if  the  soul  of  Mer- 
lin were  in  the  logs. 

What  need  of  a  candle  ?  The  gorgeous  yellow  firelight 
floods  everything  in  the  room  ; — the  impossible  heroes  on 
the  wall,  wounded  and  dying,  lying  straight  as  a  marline- 
spike,  with  arms  prettily  composed,  unruffled  uniforms, 
and  a  sweet  doll-like  smile  on  their  faces ;  the  dried 
"  yarbs,"  and  the  ears  of  maize  hanging  by  the  husk ;  the 
3* 


58  {  "HE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY. 

polished  rifle  and  powder-horn  on  wooden  hooks  ;  the  fly- 
specked  plaster  dogs  and  lambs  on  the  mantel ;  the  dog- 
eared almanac;  the  twists  of  cotton  yarn;  the  broken 
legged  reel. 

Captain  Trawhitt  is  a  man  of  years,  but  prematurely 
old  from  the  mental  shocks  of  the  war,  of  its  sleepless 
dread  of  insurrection,  of  its  buoyant  pride  so  cruelly  and 
tragically  wrecked.  The  full  florid  face,  the  hair  a  little 
curled,  are  those  of  the  Georgia  farmer. 

While  his  wife  and  the  wench  are  combing  cotton  in  the 
corner,  the  old  man  sits  in  his  easy  chair,  crooning  of 
other  days. 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  South  is  ruined  forever,  forever,  sir.  The 
niggers  won't  work,  and  they're  just  perishin'  the  country 
to  death.  I  wish  they  had  the  last  nigger  up  thar  among 
'em,  they  loved  'em  so  much.  You  back  agin  ?  Begone, 
you  Ring  !  Freedom  is  dead  in  the  United  States,  dead  as 
a  stewed  cat,  and  I  wish  we  had  a  king.  I'll  never  vote 
agin,  as  long  as  I  live ;  I  have  no  confidence  in  nuthin'. 
I've  swore  never  to  vote  agin  in  my  life." 

They  persist  in  leaving  the  outside  door  open,  and  I  am 
all  the  while  roasting  before  and  freezing  behind. 

"  Sherman  passed  through  here,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  you're  mighty  right,  he  did.  Two  of  his 
cussed,  unhung,  sneak  thieves — '  bummers '  I  reckon  they 
was — ro(ie  up  here,  and  asked  me  whar  my  silver  was  hid 
before  ever  I  could  say,  <  howdy.'  When  I  told  'em  I 
hadn't  no  silver,  one  of  the  dirty  villians  cocked  his  pistol, 
held  it  close  to  my  head,  and  swore  he'd  let  light  through 
my  character  if  I  didn't  tell,  mighty  quick,  too." 

"  Did  they  actually  shoot  any  of  your  neighbors  ?" 

"  They  killed  one  man,  but  it  was  some  of  those  hyur 
crackers  done  that,  who  went  away  and  jined  Sherman, 
and  come  back  a-purpose  for  such  doins.  But  the  ever- 
lastin'  scalawags  !  they  jabbed  their  hands  in  my  wescoat 


HIS  EXPERIENCE  WITH  BUMMERS.  59 

pockets,  and  when  they  didn't  find  nothin'  but  Confede- 
rate money — ha !  ha  !  ha !  rather  thin  pickin',  as  the  goose 
said  to  the  turkey,  when  it  swallowed  the  knife-blade — • 
when  they  didn't  find  nothin'  but  Confederate  money, 
they  pulledTny  boots  off,  and  jerked  so  they  drug  me  out 
of  the  cheer,  and  I  come  down  on  the  floor  a  settin." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  But  the  soldiers  were  not  so  brutal  as 
these  bummers,  I  think  ?" 

"  No,  thar  was  a  Ohio  captain — you  Watch  !  William, 
why  dont  you  drive  them  dogs  out  ? — a  mighty  clever  man, 
that  captain  was.  He  wouldn't  nigh  let  the  soldiers  come 
in  the  house,  and  when  the  water  got  riley  in  the  well,  he 
wouldn't  'low  'em  to  tech  it,  though  I've  seen  many  a  poor 
soldier  look  mighty  wishful  at  it,  as  if  he  was  starvin'  for 
water." 

Will  nobody  shut  that  dreadful  door  ?  Once  I  venture 
to  shut  it  myself,  but  straightway  somebody  goes  through 
again,  and  leaves  it  open,  purposely,  I  suspect. 

"  Captain,  it  must  have  been  gloomy  for  men  of  your 
years  toward  the  end  of  the  war." 

"  O,  my  God  !  my  God !  when  I  think  of  it,  I  wonder 
that  I  am  still  alive.  As  soon  as  night  come,  I  always 
made  my  boy  Toney — a  faithful  nigger  he  was,  I  could 
trust  him  even  when  the  Yankees  come — lock  every  door 
on  the  place,  and  sleep  with  a  gun  and  pistol  before  my 
door.  We  never  knew  at  night,  when  we  laid  down,  but 
our  house,  and  we  with  it,  would  be  burned  to  ashes  be- 
fore morning.  The  whole  country  was  full  of  rovin'  bum- 
mers, and  our  own  deserters  and  bomb-proofs  begun  to 
creep  out  of  their  holes,  like  hyenas  when  they  scent  the 
carrion,  and  prowl  about  at  night,  to  be  revenged  on  the 
conscript  officers.  Three  times  a  shot  was  fired  across  my 
hairth,  and  nearly  every  fortnight  we  heerd  of  somebody 
bein'  shot  down  at  night  before  his  own  fireplace.  D'ye 
see  them  thick  shutters  of  boards  ?  I  had  to  have  them 


60  "SHERMAN  IS  COMING!" 

made  to  keep  murderers  from  firin'  into  the  house  at 
night."* 

"  I  have  seen  hundreds  of  houses  with  such  shutters ; 
but  I  supposed  it  was  owing  to  the  scarcity  of  glass  in  the 
Confederate  times." 

"  Then  we  heerd  Sherman  was  comin',  and  one  night  I 
told  my  wife  the  sky  looked  mighty  red  off  yonder,  and 
then  we  knew  he  was  comin',  and  the  next  night  it  was  a 
heap  redder — O,  my  God !  to  see  the  blue  bright  sky  red- 
den up  with  a  steady  pace,brighter  and  more  luridly  dread- 
ful night  after  night,  towards  all  you  have  and  love  on  the 
yearth,  till  at  last  thar  comes  a  night  when  all  you  can  see 
of  God's  great  heaven  is  a  naming  concave  of  fire,  and  to 
have  children  runnin'  and  cryin'  that  they  will  all  be  shot, 
and  kiverin'  themselves  in  the  cotton !  And  then  to  have 
my  niggers  settin'  up  all  night  long,  the  night  when  Sher- 
man come,  a  singin'  and  shoutin'  praises,  though  they 
knew  my  wife  and  children  was  skeered  nigh  about  to 
death,  and  a  watchin'  the  red  sky.  They  thought  he  was 
comin'  in  a  chariot  of  fire,  and  I  really  believe  old  Dinah 
'lowed  to  go  to  heaven  in  the  chariot." 

"  Yes,  grandpa,"  interrupts  a  little  girl,  "  I  heerd  her 
say  so,  and  aunt  Betsy  'lowed  all  her  gals  was  gwine  to 
have  Yankee  husbands  too." 

What  a  study  for  some  future  Beard  was  that — a  little 
group  of  life-long  bondmen,  sleepless  with  the  vague  and 
and  ineffable  transports  of  that  coming  something,  sitting 
and  singing  at  midnight,  and  watching  that  great  glare  in 
the  heavens,  where  Sherman,  by  the  light  of  a  burning 
State,  was  gathering  his  red  sheaves ! 

"  How  did  your  negroes  behave  when  freed  ?" 

6  O,  they  went  plumb  crazy,  like  everybody  else's  nig- 
gers. I  always  treated  my  niggers  with  the  greatest  kind- 

*It  is  only  just  to  say  that  this  description  was  more  applicable  to  the 
mountainous  regions  of  the  Carolinas. 


TIIE  UNGRATEFUL  SLAVES.  61 

ness,  never  struck  a  grown-up  servant  in  my  life,  always 
give  'em  a  peck  of  meal  and  four  pound  of  bacon  a  week, 
and  every  one  had  their  truck-patch,  and  their  own  hogs 
and  chickens.  As  soon  as  ever  one  got  sick,  my  wife  al- 
ways toted  'em  here  before  our  own  hairth,  for  they  won't 
nuss  one  another ;  and  many  a  time  my  wife  has  sot  up 
with  'em,  when  their  own  mothers  was  a  carousin'  and  a 
cuttin'  up  monkey  shines  all  night.  But,  after  all  my 
kindness,  why,  the  last  one  of  'em  showed  me  their  heels, 
like  a  passel  of  colts,  and  away  they  went,  though  they 
left  all  the  old  women  and  the  children  on  my  hands." 

"  The  negroes  everywhere,  I  believe,  seemed  to  think 
they  were  not  free  unless  they  left  the  old  master." 

"  Yes,  but  they  was  so  ongrateful !  They  didn't  even 
come  to  ask  for  advice  about  goin'  away.  I  called  my  nig- 
gers all  up  one  mornin',  and  tole  'em  the  war  was  comin' 
to  an  end,  and  they'd  all  be  free,  and  asked  'em  if  anybody 
had  ever  been  kinder  to  'em  than  '  old  master,'  and  offered 
'em  wages  if  they'd  stay,  and  every  one  promised  to  do  it. 
But  the  very  minit  they  see  a  blue-coat,  away  the  fool 
whipper-snappers  went,  every  one  of  'em  as  crazy  as  a  bed- 
bug. I  never  did  see  sech  fool  doins  in  all  my  life  as 
them  niggers  done." 

Here  the  little  pickaninny  in  the  corner  stealthily  leaves 
his  stool  and  crouches  along  to  the  sleeping  cat,  in  whose 
ear  he  blows  a  stiff  blast,  and  is  infinitely  amused  to  see  it 
jump  up  and  shake  its  head. 

"  Ha  !  you  black  rascal,  your  mother  run  away  and  left 
you  for  me  to  feed,  and  as  soon  as  you  are  big  enough, 
you'll  run  away,  too.  Sech  fool  doins — why,  when  the 
first  bummers  come,  my  niggers  wanted  to  hug  'em,  they 
did.  When  the  bummers  couldn't  find  nothin'  on  me, 
they  called  all  the  niggers  into  the  gin,  and  told  'em  a  long 
cock-and-bull  story  about  Uncle  Abe  and  his  dear  children, 
and  how  they'd  never  want  anything  more  in  this  life,  and 


62  RETURN  OF  THE  RUNAWAYS. 

wouldn't  have  to  work,  and  then  they  made  the  niggers 
give  'em  all  their  silver — and  many  a  nigger  in  the  old 
time  had  more  ready  cash  hid  in  old  rags  than  his  master 
— all  their  silver,  and  rings,  and  things,  and  they  rode  off 
with  'em." 

"  I  think  the  negroes  were  not  often  duped  so." 
"No,  'twas  only  bummers  done  the  like.  I  always 
treated  my  niggers  kind.  Every  mornin',  as  regular  as 
the  day  come,  I  went  down  to  their  quarters,  and  looked 
through  'em  to  see  if  all  was  right ;  and  I  always  took  a 
flour  biscuit  in  my  pocket  to  divide  among  the  children. 
They'd  all  set  on  the  fence,  with  their  little  woolly  heads 
in  a  row,  and  their  eyes  a  shinin'  as  pert  as  crickets,  waitin' 
for  f  Ole  Mawssa '  to  come,  and  they'd  run  to  meet  me  like 
as  if  it  was  their  father.  I  done  it  to  make  them  love  me. 
Sometimes,  when  I  was  sick  or  away,  they'd  set  thar  nigh 
about  all  the  forenoon,  wonderin'  why  '  Ole  Mawssa ' 
didn't  come.  Yet,  when  Sherman  came  along,  do  you 
think,  every  last  skunk  of  'em  run  away." 

"  Did  none  of  your  negroes  ever  come  back  ?" 
"  Yes,  in  two  or  three  years  all  of  'ein  that  was  livin' 
come  back,  but  I  had  all  the  niggers  hired  I  wanted,  and 
couldn't  take  'em  back.  I  didn't  wonder  so  much  at  these 
young  ones,  but  thar  was  one  nigger,  old  Shade,  had  ought 
to  knowed  better.  Me  and  Shade  was  jest  of  an  age,  and 
when  I  come  of  age  my  father  give  me  Shade,  the  first 
nigger  I  ever  owned.  I  used  to  reason  with  Shade,  just 
like  a  white  man,  and  asked  his  advice  many  a  time.  I 
used  to  think  mighty  few  niggers  would  ever  git  to  heaven, 
but  I  was  certain  old  Shade  would  be  one  of  'em.  He 
swam  once  three  miles  in  a  dreadful  freshet  to  save  my  life. 
But  Shade  got  the  biggest  bug  in  his  ear  of  any  of  'em, 
and  he  left  a  comfortable  home  in  his  old  age  to  go  spear 
pismires  in  Savannah. 

"About   three  months   after   the   surrender  he   come 


STORY  OF  OLD  SHADE.  (J3 

crawlin'  back,  worn  plumb  down  to  a  skeleton,  so  I  didn't 
know  him  till  he  spoke,  and  wanted  to  come  back.  He 
said  he  had  been  sick  in  a  Federal  hospital,  and  he  saw 
the  nurses  sprinkle  some  white  stuff  in  the  big  kettle  of 
soup  they  made  for  the  niggers,  which  he  said  was  arsenic ; 
but  I  never  more'n  half  believed  this  part  of  his  story, 
though  Shade  always  did  tell  the  truth.  I  don't  think  it 
would  have  been  possible,  such  devilish  work,  do  you? 
Still,  I  never  knew  Shade  tell  a  lie  in  my  life,  never. 

"  First,  I  told  Shade  he'd  run  away  without  askin'  my 
advice,  and  now  I  couldn't  let  him  come  back ;  but  he 
plead  so  hard,  for  the  sake  of  my  son  Americus — he's  dead 
and  gone  now,  poor  boy  ! — who  he  used  to  coddle  a  thous- 
and times  on  his  knees,  and  said  if  I  didn't  let  him  die  in 
the  old  cabin,  he'd  die  under  the  eaves,  and  I  couldn't 
refuse  him.  My  wife  took  some  rags  and  blankets,  and 
made  him  a  bed  in  his  own  little  cabin,  where  he  lived  all 
his  life,  and  when  we  went  to  him  in  the  morning,  sure 
enough  poor  old  Shade  was  dead." 

At  these  recollections  the  old  man  is  deeply  moved, 
bows  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  remains  silent  for  a 
long  time,  now  and  then  brushing  away  with  the  back  of 
his  hand  a  trickling  tear.  At  length  he  recovers  himself, 
and  with  a  laugh  points  to  the  pickaninny,  whose  head  has  * 
for  many  minutes  been  weaving  and  circling  in  a  sleepy 
maze,,  and  jerking  as  if  trying  to  fling  itself  off  its 
shoulders. 

And  so,  with  garrulous  talk  and  jocularity,  as  of  Grand- 
father Smallweed,  amid  that  large  satisfaction  which  men 
feel  when  they  find  they  do  not  hate  each  other  as  they 
supposed,  the  evening  slips  along  far  into  the  hours  when 
the  great  clock  takes  so  long  to  deliver  its  solemn  message, 
as  if  it,  too,  were  almost  asleep. 

There  is  a  rough  and  ruddy  vigor  in  the  Georgia  farmer 
which  smacks  of  his  good  red  hills.  The  pine  is  generally 


G±  THE  YANKEES  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

the  emblem  of  poverty,  of  which  in  North  Carolina  there 
is  one  dead  and  hopeless  level.  The  live-oak  is  the  sign 
and  surety  of  wealth  in  the  soil,  and  in  South  Carolina 
this  alternates  with  the  pine  in  a  level  which  is  equally 
dead  and  hopeless.  In  all  that  part  which  is  the  heart  and 
best  of  Georgia  the  pine  alternates  with  the  deciduous  oak, 
in  a  rolling  land  ;  and  there  is  distributed  wealth,  energy, 
variety. 

The  Georgians  in  the  war  were  of  that  type  of  heroes 
sung  by  Pindar,  plucking  a  slow  flower  of  glory,  but  of  a 
lofty  and  enduring  fortitude.  Mortally  stricken  at  the 
last,  and  all  her  iron  sinews  rent  from  end  to  end,  as  if  by 
the  lightnings,  Georgia  yet  pillared  resolutely  up  upon  her 
hundred  regiments  the  tottering  Confederacy.  Despite 
the  secret  machinations  of  a  few  men,  based  on  a  petty 
personal  pique  against  Davis,  the  people  of  the  State  were 
the  mainstay  of  the  rebellion,  next  after  the  Old  Domin- 
ion. In  all  the  Confederacy  none  deserved  less  than  did 
stalwart  and  honest,  and  hard-headed  Georgia  to  have 
thrust  upon  her  the  ghoulish  and  damning  infamy  of 
Andersonville. 


CHAPTER  V., 
THE  COTTON-PLANTERS. 

S  I  crossed  over  from  Columbus  on  the  great 
Opelika  bridge,  the  Chattahoochee  was  roaring 
over  the  gray  rocks  far  beneath,  all  gory,  as  if 
the  lightning  had  wounded  the  big  red  heart  of  Georgia. 

An  Alabama  planter  told  me  a  story  which  illustrates 
the  ancient  disbelief  of  his  class  in  the  negro's  ability  to 
keep  his  own  life  in  his  body.  He  owned  a  ferry  on  the 
Chattahoochee,  and  to  make  his  ferryman  faithful  gave 
him  half  the  profits.  Harry  saved  his  gains  carefully,  and 
in  the  course  of  time  proposed  to  his  master  to  buy  his 
freedom.  He  consented,  and  a  bargain  was  made  that 
Harry  should  pay  $800  for  himself,  half  in  hand.  Not 
long  after  there  came  a  prodigious  freshet,  Harry's  skiff 
was  capsized  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  and  himself  car- 
ried down  two  or  three  miles  before  he  could  get  ashore, 
more  dead  than  alive.  Wofully  bedraggled  and  dilapida- 
ted he  presented  himself  before  his  master. 

"  Mass'  John,  dis  chile  like  to  trade  back." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Harry «" 

"  Tell  you  what,  mass'  John,  four  hundred  dollars  mo' 
money  'n  I  want  to  risk  in  dis  hyur  nigger. 

From  Columbus  to  the  Coosa  it  was  Georgia  over  again 
— wearisome  with  its  red-clay  hills  and  its  woods  of  pine. 
And  down  the  Coosa,  too,  with  its  aguish  fens  of  bul- 
rushes, everything  was  blue  and  detestable  with  falling 
rain. 


66  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  ALABAMA. 

But  down  the  lordly  valley  of  the  Alabama  I  walked 
with  delight.  It  is  a  land  of  plenteous  pork,  and  corn, 
and  juice  of  corn ;  a  land  of  log-cribs,  high  and  spindling, 
and  full  of  snow-white  corn  ;  of  red  smoke-houses,  strongly 
locked,  whose  inside  walls  laughed  with  gammoned  hams, 
and  "  middlings,"  and  sacks  of  hominy,  and  jars  of  but- 
termilk, old  and  mighty.  The  whole  face  of  the  magnifi- 
cent valley  was  wreathed  in  a  ham-fat  pone,  and  butter- 
milk smile. 

As  soon  as  you  enter  the  suburbs  of  a  southern  town, 
you  see  two  negroes  leaning  across  a  gate. 

"  Good  mornin',  uncle  Jim,  howdy  ?" 

"Well,  I'se  jest  tolable  like;  how's  yesself  V9 

"  Jest  midlin'.  Seems  like  I  has  rheumatiz  all  de  time. 
How's  yer  wife,  uncle  Jim  ?" 

"  "Well,  aunt  Betsy,  she's  mighty  bad ;  got  de  glorium 
squeezus,  doctor  says." 

Who  ever  saw  two  negroes  meet,  who  were  not  in  very 
bad  health,  I  wonder  3  They  are  never  more  than  "jest 
tolable,"  at  best. 

Montgomery  is  built  in  a  pretty  cove  in  the  river  hills, 
•  in  the  shape  of  an  arc  of  a  parquet  in  a  theatre.  Stand- 
ing on  the  lofty  walls  of  the  capitol,  on  the  highest  out- 
side hills,  the  spectator  looks  league  upon  league  both  up 
and  down  the  ox-bow  Alabama,  which  bowls  its  broad 
waters  straight  into  the  city ;  gnaws  forever  at  the  raw 
and  bloody  bluff;  and  then  goes  off  in  nearly  the  same 
direction  it  follows  in  approaching. 

Albert  Sidney  Johnston  pleaded  forcibly  the  claims  of 
Montgomery  to  be  the  capital  of  the  Confederacy,  saying 
that  the  heart  of  the  body  ought  not  to  be  worn  on  the 
shoulder,  for  every  daw  to  peck.  But  the  querulous  old 
Mother  of  Presidents  was  hesitating,  and  they  tossed  her 
the  bauble. 


MONTGOMERY.  67 

Richmond  won  the  coveted  crown,  but,  unlike  the  chap- 
let  of  laurel  worn  by  Tiberius  to  shield  himself  from  the 
bolts  of  Jove,  it  encircled  her  haughty  brow  with  the  war's 
whole  coronal  of  lightenings. 

As  one  travels  westward,  one  departs  continually  farther 
and  farther  from  the  strictness,  straightforwardness  and 
sternness  of  the  Atlantic  States.  Western  breadth  and 
blandness  increase.  Sombre  Savannah  was  the  cruelest 
master  of  the  freedmen  I  passed  in  all  my  journey.  Mont- 
gomery was  far  enough  west  to  laugh  a  little.  When  the 
freedmen  were  first  marshaled  as  voters,  a  wag  in  Mont- 
gomery, among  other  tricks,  induced  over  a  score  of  them 
to  vote  in  the  letter-box  in  the  post-office. 

A  plantation  negro  not  far  from  the  city,  when  I  asked 
him  for  whom  he  had  voted,  said,  "  I  voted  for  mass' 
McLeod,  an'  de  'Publican  party,  an'  de  United  States,  an' 
de  Congress." 

I  am  constantly  astonished  at  the  quickness  with  which 
the  freedmen  pick  up  the  catch-words  and  slang  of  politics, 
reading,  music,  carpentry,  and  such  superficial  acquire- 
ments. I  hazard  little  in  saying  that,  in  these  matters, 
they  are  apter  than  any  class  of  whites.  But  the  difference 
between  white  and  black  is  indicated  in  the  remark  of 
Themistocles,  who  said  he  could  not  learn  to  fiddle,  but  he 
could  make  a  great  city  grow  where  a  village  was  before. 

From  Montgomery  to  Selma  the  Alabama  wanders  down 
by  the  longest  way,  like  a  whining  school-boy  in  the  morn- 
ing, slipping  smooth  and  haggard  through  many  a  superflous 
sinuosity,  as  if  loth  to  leave  the  regal  valley  which  itself  has 
created.  Beneath  the  overhanging  fringes  of  sweet-gums, 
magnolias,  and  sycamores,  which  hold  up  their  white  arms 
in  holy  horror  at  this  murderer  of  the  hills,  it  rambles 
backward  and  forward,  and  moans  against  the  bluffs,  which 
hurl  it  away  with  loathing. 


68  ON  THE  FERRY-BOAT  AT  SELMA. 

On  the  ferry-scow  at  Selma  there  were  several  men  of 
the  poorest  class,  white-faced,  gaunt,  tobacco-chewing  men, 
talking  with  that  flippancy  of  vulgarity  characteristic  of 
the  ignorant  in  the  South. 

"  I'm  d —  ef  I  don't  think  that  was  the  meanest  trick  I 
ever  heerd  of — 'lowin  a  nigger  to  testify  agin  a  white  man," 
said  one,  spitting  vehemently  into  the  river. 

"  Thar  aint  one  nigger  outer  ten  but  what  you  can  hire 
him  for  five  dollars  to  swear  a  man's  life  away,"  echoed 
another,  to  which  they  all  assented. 

There  was  a  negro  on  board  who,  in  passing  the  heels  of 
a  mule,  was  kicked  out  into  the  river.  It  was  after  night- 
fall, but  no  one  offered  him  any  assistance,  nor  did  they 
even  stop  the  scow.  I  afterwards  found  out  that  he 
swam  ashore. 

"  Only  one  woolly  head  the  less,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
with  a  brutal  laugh.  D —  'em,  I  like  to  see  'em  droppin' 
off.  And  that  ar's  the  benefit  to  we  po'  men  of  this  hyur 
freedom  they've  give  'em.  Ef  that  had  been  some  man's 
slave,  they'd  raised  heaven  and  yearth  to  save  him,  and 
gin  him  thirty-nine  for  fallin'  in." 

The  great  plateau  between  Selma  and  Demopolis,  jut- 
ting down  between  the  Alabama  and  the  Tombigbee,  is 
one  vast  undulating  cotton-field,  islanded  with  magnificent 
natural  groves  of  oak,  and  dotted  with  the  lordly  mansions 
of  the  planters.  The  flag  with  which  Sergeant  Bates  pass- 
ed me  on  the  railroad  track,  fluttered  its  starry  folds 
within  easy  sight  of  ten  thousand  negroes,  plowing  for 
cotton  between  the  two  cities. 

In  her  normal  condition  Alabama,  though  younger  than 
Georgia,  feels  less  in  her  councils  the  influence  of  the  mid- 
dle class,  the  small  planters.  Hence,  as  the  typical  Ala- 
bamian,  it  will  be  proper  to  select  a  great  planter,  who  shall 
be  designated  as  Colonel  A.  St.  Leger  Varnell. 


AN  ALABAMIAN  PLANTER'S  HOME.  69 

lie  lives  in  a  white  house,  which  is  square,  and  has  a 
four-sided  hip-roof.  The  chimneys  are  sometimes  extra- 
foraneous,  but,  in  this  pattern  of  house,  they  are  oftener 
taken  in-doors.  There  is  always  a  veranda  extending 
across  one  side,  and  sometimes  more,  with  columns  which 
are  also  square,  plain,  and  formal. 

Around  it  there  is  a  good  characteristic  of  the  lovely 
and  thriftless  South.  A  smiling  bed  of  verbenas  ill  con- 
ceals the  jagged  rift  in  the  trellis  which  supplies  the  place 
of  range-work ;  and  the  gate  by  which  we  enter  this  gar- 
den of  delights  leans  one  lazy  shoulder  on  the  post,  for 
lack  of  a  hinge.  In  the  rear  there  is  a  double  row  of 
whitewashed  negro  cabins,  and  a  garden  of  collards. 

The  house  is  bisected  by  a  spacious  hall,  which  contains 
a  banister  ending  in  a  rich  heavy  whorl,  a  hat-stand,  and 
the  inevitable  gold-headed  cane.  The  apartments  are  of 
the  old-time,  stately,  frigid  sombreness,  and  are  joined  by 
folding-doors.  In  one  of  them  is  a  rich  grand  piano, 
which  bears  atop  a  tiny  negro  statuette  in  bronze,  dancing 
on  top  of  a  wire,  and  reaching  out  his  hand  for  his  mis- 
tress' music. 

At  the  hour  for  dinner  we  retire,  as  always,  to  a  sepa- 
rate cook-house.  A  number  of  lively  pickaninnies,  dress- 
ed in  coarse,  white  kirtles,  flutter  about  with  superfluous 
assiduities.  Few  sights  in  the  South  are  more  pleasant 
to  me  than  these  little  waiters  about  a  planter's  table. 

First,  there  is  sweet-potato  soup,  rarely  good.  The 
body  of  the  dinner  offers  sweet  potatoes  boiled,  dry,  floury 
and  exceedingly  digestible,  and  baked  red  potatoes.  Take 
selected  potatoes,  which  bake  juicy,  almost  like  candied 
honey,  and  a  bowl  of  buttermilk,  old  and  rich,  and  slightly 
acid,  and  you  have  the  best  eating  in  thirty-seven  States. 
Then  there  is  a  sweet-potato  pudding,  and  the  mouth  of 
my  memory  waters  when  I  write  thereof. 


70  TALKS  WITH  COLONEL  VARNELL 

After  the  tiny  cup  of  black  coffee  and  corn-bread,  which 
often  singularly  conclude  a  southern  dessert,  we  sit  in  the 
veranda,  and  the  table  talk  is  renewed.  Colonel  Yarnell 
is  a  young  man;  tall;  spare;  black,  fine,  long,  clinging 
hair,  combed  behind  the  ears;  straight  nose;  skin  dead 
and  rather  dark  ;  drawling  voice — a  melancholy  but  fiery 
character,  and  capable  of  intense  devotion. 

"  O,  sir,  there  is  not  the  slightest  affinity  or  community 
between  our  people  and  the  Yankees.  En  effet,  the  North 
first  seceded  from  the  old  constitution  to  a  '  higher  power,' 
from  the  old  religion  into  infidelity,  from  the  old  language 
into  transcendentalism,  from  the  old  fashions  into  naked- 
ness, and  there  remained  nothing  for  us  but  to  sever  the 
only  remaining  bond,  that  of  government.  It  was  inevi- 
table, sir." 

"  But  was  not  this  simply  the  work  of  slavery,  and  not 
the  result  of  inherent  incompatibilities  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  by  no  means,  sir.  We  follow  the  noble  pur- 
suit of  Washington  and  Lee ;  the  Yankees  are  peddlers, 
and  greasy  operatives.  "We  are  a  free  and  fighting  people; 
the  Yankees  are  hucksters,  and  swallow  any  insult  for  the 
sake  of  the  main  chance.  Add  to  this,  sir,  the  national 
genius  of  the  Yankees  is  essentially  prying  and  austere, 
while  our  people  are  genial,  jovial,  humorous.  Question 
history,  and  you  will  find  that  no  thoroughly  humorous 
people,  like  the  modern  Spaniards,  or  the  medieval  Vene- 
tians, have  ever  been  able  to  maintain  any  true  republic. 
IZevenons  a  nos  moutons.  The  tendency  in  the  South  is 
continually  toward  the  limitation  of  fanatical  notions 
among  the  masses,  and  the  establishment  of  strong-handed 
order." 

"  You  mean  monarchy.  But  you  will  remember  the 
provision  of  the  constitution,  that  Congress  shall  guaran- 
tee a  republican  form " 


ON  THE  VERANDA.  fl 

(Fiercely.)  "  I  understand,  sir.  Pray  don't  flaunt  that 
bloody  rag  before  my  eyes. 

'  Force  rules  the  world  still, 
Has  ruled  it,  shall  rule  it.' 

It  was  fit  that  that  should  come  from  Boston.  But  Deo 
volente,  the  South  will  make  that  a  false  prophecy.  Do 
you  suppose,  sir,  that  Illinois  will  submit  forever  to  see 
her  glorious  prairies  tapped  to  pour  eleemosynary  wheat 
into  the  sacks  of  the  blue-bellied,  pinch-penny,  cod-liver- 
eaters  of  Maine  ?  The  day  will  come,  sir,  and  delay  not, 
when  the  East  and  the  West  shall  be  torn  asunder  as  a 
pledged  garment  is  rent  by  the  dicers.  And  when  the 
keepers  fall  upon  the  bloody  ground,  clutched  in  a  fierce 
embrace,  who  then  will  keep  the  caged  lion  ?  Aye,  who 
will  keep  him  then  ?" 

"  Call  the  garment  seamless,  and  the  comparison  is  good. 
Now  I  will  show  you  what  things  are  bound  to  make  it 
seamless,  and  therefore  not  easily  torn. 

"  In  weaving  this  great  garment,  Agriculture  stretches 
the  warp,  but  Manufactures  weave  in  the  weft.  You  see, 
therefore,  the  seam  between  the  East  and  West  is  continu- 
ally pushed  inland,  and  it  will  finally  be  woven  entirely 
out  into  the  Pacific. 

"  The  seam  between  the  North  and  the  South  will  be  a 
good  deal  harder  to  get  rid  of,  because  it  is  the  seam  be- 
tween white  and  coffee-color  or  downright  black.  But  the 
South  will  bleach  itself,  just  as  New  England  did  long  ago, 
but  more  slowly.  The  negroes,  now  that  they  are  free  to 
go  where  they  choose,  are  moving  toward  the  coast,  and 
toward  Liberia  faster  than  formerly. 

"  The  deplorable  misfortune  of  our  country  has  always 
been  that  our  struggle  for  homogeneity  has  been,  not  as  in 
England,  a  social  one,  but  as  in  Germany,  a  sectional  one ; 
and  the  only  thing  that  creates  this  lack  of  homogeneity 


72  TALKS  WITH  COLONEL  VARNELL 

is  difference  of  opinion  about  the  negro.  If  negroes  were 
distributed  all  over  the  Union,  we  should  all  think  alike 
about  them,  because  we  should  all  know  alike,  and  there 
would  be  no  quarrel.  The  civil  feuds  died  out  in  Eng- 
land, because  it  was  neighbor  against  neighbor  all  over  the 
island ;  but  in  Germany  they  never  subside,  because,  as 
with  us,  it  is  one  great  united  section  against  another, 
whom  it  is  impossible  to  make  acquainted  with  each  other. 

"  To  recapitulate.  I  have  shown  how  we  are  making 
the  garment  seamless,  as  between  East  and  West;  and 
how  it  is  becoming  seamless,  as  between  North  and  South, 
by  the  gradual  bleaching  of  the  latter  into  white.  The 
South  will  not  attempt  to  tear  it  again,  though  the  sec- 
tions will  always  find  cause  of  quarrel  and  of  hatred,  until 
they  become  of  one  color. 

"  The  negro  is  the  real  Disunionist  of  the  South ;  in 
fact,  he  is  disunion  itself,  not  by  any  disloyalty  of  his — far 
from  it — but  by  his  mere  presence,  for  which  he  is  not 
responsible." 

"  If  your  argument  be  true — and  '  thou  reasonest  well ' 
— may  we  never  lack  a  nigger  to  drop  into  the  Federal 
hell-broth  in  which  the  South  is  mixed,  to  resolve  it  apart ! 
Yet  I  shrink  from  the  abhorred  infliction.  Consider,  sir, 
what  a  high-toned  people  suffer  from  the  contact  with  a 
brutish  race,  when  they  can  not  control  them  by  force. 
No  northern  man  can  understand  it.  The  nigger  has  no 
property,  and  you  can't  get  redress  in  the  courts.  He  has 
no  honor,  and  you  can't  even  insult  him.  All  our  lives 
we  have  chid  them  as  inferiors,  and  with  our  words  there 
was  an  end ;  but  now  they  give  curse  for  curse.  I  will 

none  of  it !  I  will  none  of  it !  by !  sir,  no  man  whose 

hair  grows  in  his  head  at  both  ends,  shall  ever  give  me 
words  in  my  teeth.  He  shall  die  in  his  tracks  like  a  beast." 

"  You  will  give  the  negro  the  same  privilege  ?" 


OX  THE  VERANDA.  73 

"  What,  put  myself  on  a  level  with  a  nigger  ?  Do  you 
believe  a  nigger  is  human  ?" 

"  There  are,  as  Fray  Jay  me  Bleda  would  say,  a  hundred 
marks  to  show  he  is  not  human.  A  negro,  as  you  are 
aware,  wraps  his  only  blanket  around  his  head,  and  turns 
it  toward  the  fire,  but  a  white  man  sleeps  with  his  feet 
toward  the  fire.  A  majority  of  negroes  are  left-handed, 
but  white  men  are  mostly  right-handed.  The  nostril  of  a 
negro " 

"  Ah !  you  are  jesting." 

"  I  was  only  stating  facts." 

"  But,  if  you  please,  let  us  speak  seriously,  jocis  relictis. 
Our  people  are  hardly  in  the  mood  for  jesting  now. 
Each  fresh  disaster  seemed  to  nerve  our  enemies  to  a 
fiercer  energy,  but  when  the  final  and  awful  ruin  fell  upon 
our  people,  they  were  broken  with  unutterable  grief  and 
despair.  Our  sons  and  brothers  in  the  bloody  grave,  our 
cherished  homes  in  ashes,  our  beloved  country  a  smoking 
and  desolated  waste,  before  us  a  life  of  poverty,  brutal 
insult,  and  unknown  and  unimaginable  retributions,  and 
these  foolish  and  miserable  beings  leaping  in  exultation 
around  us,  almost  on  the  fresh-made  graves  of  our  heroic 

dead,  and  even  taunting  us  with  being — G !  did  not 

some  bite  the  dust  for  their  impudence !" . 

A  pause  ensues,  during  which  the  host  goes  out  and 
calls  a  negro  from  his  plow,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, to  fetch  him  a  drink,  though  he  went  as  far  to  call 
him  as  he  would  have  done  in  going  to  the  well. 

"  Colonel  Yarnell,  I  am  anxious  to  hear  an  intelligent 
Southern  opinion  as  to  the  freedman's  future." 

"  Well,  before  I  attempt  that,  let  me  give  you  some 
grounds  for  an  opinion.  I  shall  give  you  hard  facts,  Yan- 
kee fashion. 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  nigger  is  a  thief  '  by  spherical 


74  A  SOUTHERN  OPIXIOX 

predominance.'  Before  emancipation,  my  aid  pastor  used 
to  instruct  all  the  servants  of  his  congregation  in  the  base- 
ment of  our  church ;  and  in  his  absence  I  often  taught 
them  myself,  not  Voodooism,  but  the  pure  religion  of  the 
Bible.  But  the  moment  they  were  free,  they  must  have 

their  own  church  and  preacher,  and  the  d rascal 

preached  his  first  sermon  in  the  boots  he  stole  from  my  old 
pastor." 

"  But  will  not  the  sense  of  responsibility  which  comes 
with  freedom  cure  this'  evil  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  sir.  Since  they  become  free,  they  steal  less 
from  their  masters,  but  more  from  each  other. 

"  In  the  second  place,  they  are  incurably  lazy.  Let  me 
tell  you  a  fact  you  may  not  have  noticed.  "When  a  white 
man  constructs  a  well-sweep,  he  so  adjusts  the  load  at  the 
end  that  it  will  not  quite  balance  the  full  bucket;  but 
when  a  nigger  makes  one  for  his  own  use,  -he  balances  it 
in  such  a  way  that  he  has  to  throw  a  good  part  of  his 
weight  on  the  pole  to  lower  the  bucket,  but  when  this  is 
full,  it  returns  of  itself.  Why  is  this  ?  Simply  because  he 
will  not  lift,  or  is  what  we  call  a  '  lubber-lifter'." 

"  I  have  noticed  this  fact,  vaguely,  but  your  explanation 
is  new." 

"  In  the  third  place,  they  are  outrageous  sponges.  On 
my  plantation  I  have  one  of  my  old  servants  named  Ad- 
dison,  the  most  faithful  and  industrious  nigger  I  ever  saw, 
and  his  wife  is  just  as  good.  But  they  have  about  forty 
children,  grandchildren,  nephews,  cousins,  and  second  cous- 
ins, who  are,  with  few  exceptions,  low-down  thieves. 
They  have  an  amazing  affection  for  Addison,  however,  and 
every  Saturday  and  Sunday  his  wife  has  to  set  three  or 
four  tables.  The  amount  of  turkey  dinners,  chicken  pot- 
pies,  biscuits,  and  roasted  pigs  consumed  there  is  incredi- 
ble. You  would  be  astonished  if  you  knew  how  many 
niggers  get  half  their  living  off  the  few  industrious." 


OF  THE  FREEDMEX'S  FUTURE.  75 

"  It  is  this  gregariousness,  doubtless,  which  makes  the 
negroes  so  widely  acquainted.  I  think  I  never  saw  two 
meet  who  did  not  know  each  other." 

"  In  the  fourth  place,  niggers  are  not  naturally  inclined, 
as  is  supposed  in  the  North,  to  be  tillers,  much  less  owners 
of  the  soil.  Go  among  the  Fantis  and  Ashantis  of  Africa, 
from  whom  we  got  most  of  our  servants,  and  you  find 
them  rather  ingenious,  imitative,  and  deft  in  mechanical 
pursuits,  but  not  tenacious  of  the  soil,  though  there  is  no 
superior  race  to  interfere  with  their  ownership.  The  nig- 
ger is  fond  of  cities.  Have  you,  in  your  journey,  found 
any  niggers  owning  land  ?" 

"  I  found  three  in  North  Carolina." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  nigger  in  the  North  who  owned 
any  land  ?" 

"  I  don't  recall  any." 

"  "Well,  then,  here  is  my  opinion  of  the  nigger's  future. 
All  who  can  possibly  live  there  will  crowd  into  the  cities, 
particularly  near  the  coast.  A  great  majority  of  those 
who  stay  in  the  country  will  avoid  long  contracts,  working 
as  much  as  possible  by  the  day  or  week.  Just  after  the 
war  they  had  a  fine  fancy  for  renting  land,  because  the 
Yankees  talked  so  much  to  them  about  it,  but  they  are  fast 
abandoning  it  for  set  wages,  because,  like  regular  soldiers 
or  college  boys,  they  don't  want  the  trouble  of  balancing 
chances  and  precasting  the  future.  I  don't  deny  the  quick- 
ness with  which  many  of  them  learn,  which  is  often  won- 
derful ;  but  it  is  only  superficial,  and  don't  give  them  tact, 
don't  give  them  what  you  Yankees  call  a  knack  of  affairs. 
Why,  I  had  a  boy  named  Wilton,  forty  years  old,  the 
most  sensible  nigger  and  the  best  driver  I  ever  had ;  but 
when  he  became  free,  he  rented  forty  acres  of  me,  and 
planted  the  last  acre  of  it  in  cucumbers,  because  the  only 
Yankee  he  ever  saw  was  fond  of  them !  He  thought  it 
would  be  the  best  crop  in  the  market." 


76  ALABAMIA^   OKAXOKb. 

"  How  about  politics  ?" 

"  Ah  !  we'll  capture  that  battery  quick  enough,  and  turn 
it  on  its  makers.  We  have  the  argumentum  ad  crume- 
nam.  What's  the  nigger's  vote  to  him  without  work  ? 
He'll  find  himself  voting  for  us  malgri  soi.  The  Yankee 
is  near  heaven,  in  the  nigger's  thinking,  but  we  are  on 
earth  yet,  and  own  a  little  of  it,  and  the  nigger  will  vote 
at  last  for  the  men  who  give  him  work.  The  masses 
couldn'  control  them,  for  the  niggers  had  always  despised 
them  and  called  them  'poor  white  trash;'  but  let  the 
South  get  back  its  leaders  in  politics,  and  they  will  follow 
them.  The  niggers  worked  for  us  before,  and  we  were 
strong  enough  ;  now  they'll  work  and  vote  too  for  us,  and 
we'll  be  stronger  than  before,  and  make  the  masses  know 
their  places." 

The  Alabamians  are  the  Greeks  of  the  South ;  The 
Georgians  are  more  like  the  Romans.  The  former  excel 
in  eloquence,  or  in  what  Coleridge  calls  the  "  literature  of 
power  ;"  the  latter  in  the  "  literature  of  fact,"  in  comedy, 
and  in  humor.  Young  as  Alabama  is,  she  has  produced 
more  and  greater  orators  than  Georgia.  Hamilton,  Yan- 
cey,  Clay,  Calhoun — these  are  all  Alabamian  names ;  and 
though  none  of  them  were  greatly  wise  in  office,  or  even 
crafty  in  the  conduct  of  caucuses,  they  were  all  greater 
than  any  Georgian,  save  one,  in  that  swift  and  voluble 
eloquence,  which  wields  at  will  the  "  fierce  democraty " 
of  the  South. 

In  Mobile,  it  was,  I  am  told,  that  a  certain  orator,  with 
truly  Ionic  craftiness,  pressed  the  blacksmith  into  the  work 
of  "  firing  the  Southern  heart,"  by  bringing  upon  the 
rostrum  manacles  inscribed  "  For  Yancey,"  "  For  Toombs," 
etc.,  which  he  told  his  audience  were  captured  at  Manassas. 

I  think  the  women  of  the  Alabama  valley,  especially  at 
Selina  and  on  the  great  plantations  west  of  it,  are  the  best 


WOMEN  OF  THE  ALABAMA  VALLEY. 


77 


type  of  American  beauty.  The  ideal  of  Alabama — often- 
est  seen  in  Selma  and  Montgomery — is  an  oval  face  ;  eyes 
black  and  flashing  ;  skin  rather  dead  and  bloodless  ;  raven 
hair — constant,  impassioned,  proud,  slaying  with  a  glance 
of  her  eyes.  Another  type  frequently  seen  on  the  planta- 
tion is ; — face  a  wider  oval ;  eyes  hazel  or  blue  ;  fair  haired ; 
skin  dead  and  marble-white,  or  transparent,  and  revealing 
an  exquisitely  tender  glowing  pink — loving,  modest,  ^cheer- 
ful, earnest.  The  former  type  prevails,  however. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  great  cotton  plateau,  specially 
those  living  on  the  Tombigbee,  are  the  tallest  men  I  have 
seen  in  the  lowlands  of  the  whole  South.  Like  the  lordly 
sycamore  of  that  river  among  trees,  or  the  peerless  Chero- 
kee rose  among  its  kindred, — matchless  in  stature  as  in 
beauty —  so  are  they  who  drink  from  the  rivers  of  Alaba- 
ma, among  the  men  and  the  women  of  the  South. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
WITH  THE  YAM-EATERS. 

N  Eastern  Mississippi  I  crossed  a  hundred  miles  of 
piney-woods,  just  like  those  of  North  Carolina.  A 
weary,  mean,  stale  country  is  this  same  piney  forest. 
The  sallow-looking  soil,  though  it  has  an  unbounded  capac- 
ity for  producing  yams,  is  full  of  unseemly  toads,  all 
manner  of  spiders,  ague-seeds,  and  biliousness.  When  at 
last  you  find  a  glade  in  the  mighty  woods,  every  tussock 
of  broom-grass  is  a  covert  for  a  -rattlesnake,  whose  tail 
suddenly  shivers  with  a  fine  delicate  intonation. 

Mother  Nature  herself  seems  to  have  the  chills  in  Mis- 
sissippi. Now  and  then  there  comes  up  the  dank  breath 
of  the  swamps  ;  a  cloud  intercepts  the  sunlight ;  the  pine 
leaves  sough  in  a  kind  of  cold  blue  shudder. 

In  a  moment  after  comes  the  fever.  The  sun's  rays 
stream  down  in  a  very  yellow,  aguish  glare,  shimmering 
on  the  fences  like  fever-stricken  witches,  and  blinking 
among  the  pines.  Now  the  trees  move  with  an  uneasy 
stir,  as  a  fever  patient  rustles  the  drapery  of  his  couch,  in 
his  burning  restlessness. 

At  evening  the  "  March  peepers  "  begin  to  wriggle  and 
chirp  in  the  scummy  marsh,  which  is  the  abode  of  Yellow 
Jack ;  thrust  out  their  cold  green  noses,  and  wink  silvery 
winks  in  the  moonlight.  Then  the  first  breath  of  coming 
spring  floats  through  the  open  windows,  alternately  in 
sickly  clouds  of  warm  and  cool. 


AT  MERIDIAN— DRAKE'S  STORY.  79 

In  the  middle  of  Meridian  there  was  a  huge  barn-like 
tavern  with  a  deep  veranda — a  good  confederate  in  its 
linten-gray.  It  was  settled  and  cracked  in  the  middle ; 
chairs  punched  through  the  rain-rotted  veranda  floor ;  and 
swine  insinuated  themselves  at  night  under  the  bar-room, 
and  emitted  dolorous  noises  at  uncertain  intervals.  It  was 
the  sole  lingering  representative  of  ante-bellum  Meridian, 
being  the  only  house  which  escaped  Sherman's  brand.  It 
stood  up  in  its  grimy  bulkiness,  among  the  funniest  little 
houses,  all  smirking  in  white  paint,  built  since  the  war  in 
place  of  the  log-cabins  hastily  thrown  up  after  Sherman 
retired.  Here  then  was  one  representative  of  the  old 
United  States,  encircled  by  these  pert  younglings  of  the 
new  United  States ;  and  these  again  were  surrounded  by 
an  outside  rim  of  the  Confederacy — log-cabins  with  stick- 
and-clay  chimneys. 

When  I  went  into  the  dining-room  of  this  tavern,  I  saw 
one  of  the  waiters  start,  look  sharply  at  me.  and  move  a 
few  paces  toward  me.  He  had  fine  Caucasian  features, 
but  was  jet-black.  He  afterward  took  his  station  behind 
my  chair,  and  seemed  to  penetrate  my  every  wish  before 
it  was  uttered.  He  brought  me  everything  that  was  rarest 
and  best. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  I  asked,  wondering  what  he 
could  mean  by  these  attentions. 

He  asked  me  to  wait  a  little,  and  as  soon  as  the  other 
guests  were  gone,  he  leaned  down  on  the  table,  and  began 
in  a  low,  soft  voice : — 

"  I  thought  you  was  my  young  master,  sah,  as  died  at 
Antietam.  You  look  'zactly  like  him,  and  I  thought  shoo' 
'miff  you  was  him,  riz  from  the  dead.  'Deed  I  did,  sah, 
at  first,  and  I  was  mighty  nigh  boo-hooin',  sah,  'cause  you 
didn't  speak  to  me,  'cause  I  thought  mebbe  he  wasn't  killed 
after  all.  My  young  master  was  mighty  good  to  me,  and 


80  A  STRANGE  SUPERSTITION. 

when  he  was  a  dyin'  on  the  field,  and  couldn't  speak,  sah, 
he  whispered  to  'em  to  tell  his  mother  to  set  us  all  free, 
and  he  mentioned  Drake  particular — that's  me.  I  was 
mighty  glad  to  see  you,  sah,  'cause  I  knowed  anybody 
looked  like  my  young  master  would  treat  me  kind.  They 
don't  treat  me  kind  here,  sah,shot  at  me  twicet. 

Next  morning  Drake  came  to  my  room  when  I  was 
about  to  leave,  and,  with  the  tears  standing  in  his  great 
dark  eyes,  begged  me  to  take  him  away  from  Meridian. 
Of  course  I  could  not.  When  I  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  spoke  a  last  word,  poor  Drake  wept  like  a  child. 

A  man  with  whom  I  staid  one  night  told  me  that,  in  the 
days  of  slavery,  it  was  an  ordinance  of  the  Almighty  that 
no  man  should  ever  own  a  thousand  slaves.  I  found  this 
strange  superstition  more  than  once  in  the  South.  Every 
one  had  some  instance  of  his  personal  knowledge,  where  a 
planter,  owning  nearly  a  thousand,  resolved  to  own  that 
number  for  once ;  but  before  he  could  get  the  requisite 
number  some  that  he  already  had  would  die  or  escape, 
and  balk  his  purpose. 

Thus  does  the  conscience  of  man,  however  blunted  or 
dulled,  yield  assent  to  that  command  which  the  Almighty 
leveled  against  avarice,  when  he  forbade  the  Israelites  to 
lay  field  to  field. 

When  you  chop  off  a  place  for  it  to  stand  upon,  you 
have  nearly  logs  enough  to  build  a  Mississippi  cabin.  The 
immigrant's  family  can  live  ten  days  in  the  wagon,  while 
he  chops  goodly  trunks,  and  flattens  them  on  two  sides. 
On  the  eleventh  there  come  to  him  men  out  of  the  path- 
less depths  of  the  woods,  summoned  by  some  mysterious 
telegraphy,  and  they  "  raise."  In  five  days  more  he  mor- 
tises a  bedstead  into  the  corner,  and  knits  a  chimney  with 
sticks. 

The  next  cabin  springs  up  even  more  quickly,  and  is 


COTTON    PRESS. 


NEGRO   TILLAGE. 


CAVES    AT    VICKSBURG. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  A  PINEY-WOODS  VILLAGE.  81 

embellished  with  a  feather-board  gable,  and  a  smooth  shin- 
gle, bearing  that  winsome  legend  of  Mississippi — "  Gem 
Saloon."  Its  face  of  golden  pine  smiles  upon  the  thirsty 
wayfarer,  alluring  him  to  the  delusive  grog. 

Next  comes  the  grocery ;  then  another  saloon,  with  a 
little,  square,  white  gable,  and  a  boarded  awning ;  then  a 
tavern.  At  last  there  is  a  village,  but  it  is  only  an  auger- 
hole  in  the  woods.  Like  potato-chits  reaching  palely  up 
in  a  cellar,  the  Mississippian  grows  very  tall.  Cut  off  from 
the  shining  of  the  sun,  and  the  light  of  the  "  eternal  and 
incorruptible  heavens,"  what  wonder  if  the  soul  of  the 
piney-woods  man  is  hard,  uncanny,  and  unsusceptible  ? 

What  an  index  of  souls  is  this  meeting-house,  with  the 
hard,  pitiless  stare  of  its  paintless  wainscoting  and  pulpit, 
and  the  straight-backed  seats,  where  little  legs  stick  away 
out  like  chubby  handspikes.  You  can  just  hear  the  sol- 
emn •<  whangdoodle  "  whine  the  moment  you  enter.  Yet 
there  assemble  here  a  multitude  of  pale  tall  children,  to 
intone  the  rudiments  of  music,  as  they  lift  up  their  voices 
with  the  master  in  a  sacred  howl.  Whence  do  they  all 
come  ? 

Huge  ox-wains  come  and  go,  groaning  beneath  their 
baled  portions  of  Mississippi's  great  fleece.  But  you  see 
no  opening  in  the  piney-woods.  Whence  do  they  all  come  ? 

Once  a  day  the  locomotive  staggers  out  of  the  forest, 
pauses  amid  a  crowd  of  little  cotton-heads,  corn-dodger, 
heads,  burnt  corn-dodger-heads,  pigs,  pups,  hounds,  wisps 
of  cotton,  bales  of  cotton,  then  vanishes  in  the  woods  like 
a  scared  bUck.  The  unaccustomed  traveler  stands  on  the 
platform,  and  I  hear  him  ask,  "  Whence  do  they  all  come  ?" 

In  Brandon  a  former  Union  officer  told  me  a  story, 
which  illustrates  a  phase  of  emancipation.     During  the 
war  a  negro  was  brought  into  the  lines,  and  an  attempt 
was  made  to  get  some  useful  information  from  him. 
4* 


82  ACROSS  THE  PEARL— JACKSON. 

"  "What's  your  name  ?"  they  asked. 

"  Jim." 

"Jim  what?" 

"  No,  sah;  not  Jim  "Watt;  I'se  jest  Jim,  sah." 

"  But  what  is  your  other  name  ?" 

"  Haint  got  no  other  name,  sah.  I'se  jest  Jim  nothin' 
mo'." 

"  What's  your  master's  name  ?" 

"Haint  got  no  mawssa,  sah;  he  runned  away — yah! 
yah  !  yah !  I'se  free  nigger  now." 

"  Well  what's  your  father's  name  P 

"  Haint  got  none,  sah  ;  neber  had  none.  I'se  jest  Jim 
hisself." 

"  Have  you  any  brothers  or  sisters  ?" 

"  No,  sail.  Haint  got  no  sister,  no  brother,  no  mother, 
no  father,  nor  nothin'.  Neber  had  none.  I'se  jest  Jim. 
Dat's  all  there  is  of  us." 

That  filthy  misnomer,  the  Pearl,  separates  the  piney- 
woods  from  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi  with  the  greatest 
sharpness.  On  one  side  the  endless  piney-woods ;  on  the 
other  side  a  magnificent  prairie-like  roll  of  Miami  loam, 
bearing  noble  forests  of  beeches  in  their  russet  suits,  sweet- 
gums  still  flickering  with  snatches  of  autumn  flame,  the 
oak,  the  holly,  the  gorgeous  magnolia.  Here  is  the  cotton- 
wood,  too,  which  begins,  and  is  co-extensive  with,  the 
Great  West. 

And  Jackson,  just  over  the  river,  is  really  the  first  city 
in  the  West.  Entering  it,  I  thought  to  cheer  my  thirsty 
soul  with  lager  beer.  It  wras  a  very  small  glass  of  very 
mean  beer,  but  the  price  was  twenty-five  cents.  As  I  laid 
down  that  amount  of  currency,  I  quietly  remarked  to  the 
proprietor  that,  in  Montgomery,  I  drank  as  good  for  fif- 
teen cents.  Thereupon,  with  a  most  lordly  and  contempt- 
uous wave  of  the  arm,  he  shoved  the  currency  back. 


A  MISSISSIPPI  TEUTON.  83 

"Never  mind,  sir;  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  one  glass 
of  beer,"  said  this  Mississippi  Teuton. 

I  felt  entirely  demolished.  "What  a  deal  of  scorn  was 
in  that  red  pudding-sack  face  !  Ah  yes,  I  was  now  fully  in 
the  West,  and  knew  it  not. 

In  a  pitiful  den,  cobbled  up  one  story  high,  among  the 
ruins  of  burnt  brick,  and  roofed  with  canvas,  you  might 
see  a  retired  young  officer,  still  in  his  Confederate  buttons, 
complacently  stroking  his  pale,  soaped  beard,  and  regard- 
ing his  donkey-load  of  groceries  with  an  air  of  serene  in- 
difference as  to  trade.  A  planter,  with  the  skirts  of  his 
sheep' s-gray  coat  studiously  and  rebelliously  long,  in  pro- 
portion as  the  Yankee  fashion  is  short,  enters  in  his  swag- 
gering way,  and  orders  muslin.  He  suits  himself  with 
the  first  piece,  and  tosses  down  the  money.  Does  he  ask 
the  price  ?  ~No ;  he  disdains  a  thing  so  "  picayunish." 
What  a  fine  and  lofty  scorn  of  small  moneys  ! 

Nowhere  else  in  the  Union  do  men  so  frequently  assert 
that  inalienable  prerogative  of  an  American — the  right  to 
draw  and  pass  a  resolution.  Nowhere  else  are  the  people 
so  devoted  to  great  political  principles,  for  every  candidate 
has  one.  Every  principle  also  has  a  candidate.  The  peo- 
ple of  Jackson  live  in  the  greatest  harmony  and  friendli- 
ness. Just  before  an  election,  every  citizen  announces 
himself  a  candidate,  each  "  at  the  request  of  many  friends." 

Between  Jackson  and  Yicksburg  I  staid  in  a  grotesque 
hut,  built  of  fragments,  in  which  paintings  of  a  most  gor- 
geous and  sensuous  beauty  embellished  a  room  like  a  sty, 
and  the  piano  shone  in  absurd  grandeur  between  the  dres- 
ser and  the  pot-rack.  A  very  little  man,  of  extreme  and 
dainty  culture,  leaned  away  back  in  his  rocking-chair,  writh 
an  air  of  utter  listlessness  and  disgust,  and  kept  his  delicate 
hand  constantly  in  motion  before  his  face,  as  if  he  were 
brushing  away  cob-webs,  while  he  rocked,  and  delivered  a 


84:  APPROACH  TO  VICKSBURG. 

monologue  on  Eeconstruction  about  half  an  hour  in  length. 

"  O,  we  brush  this  altogether  to  one  side,  sir.  Let  them 
fight  it  out  among  themselves.  "We  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  sir ;  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  They  have 
subjugated  us,  sir ;  and  we  have  laid  down  our  arms, 
and  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  these  things,  and  now 
why  don't  they 'just  settle  everything  to  suit  themselves, 
and  not  trouble  us  to  put  our  hands  in  the  disgusting 
business  ?" 

And  then  he  quoted  Byron : — 

"And  if  we  do  but  watch  the  hour, 
There  never  yet  was  human  power 

Which  could  evade  if  unforgiven, 
The  patient  search  and  vigil  long 
Of  him  who  treasures  up  a  wrong." 

All  through  the  Woods,  from  the  Big  Black  onward, 
there  were  crowds  of  graves  or  trenches,  digged  in  haste 
at  midnight,  by  the  flicker  of  the  yellow  torch,  or  the 
uncertain  flash  of  the  cannonade.  There  the  unreturning 
dead  of  that  sad,  Bad  war  slept  side  by  side,  Unionist  with 
rebel — one  with  his  name  on  "  Fame's  eternal  bead-roll," 
the  other  consigned  to  obloquy  or  sweet  oblivion.  I  was 
treading  already  on  ground  more  sacred  than  Trojan  dust. 

Mother  Earth  herself,  like  Minerva  with  the  Greeks,  in 
that  memorable  battle-summer  made  auxiliary  war  on  yon 
haughty  stronghold.  All  along  these  yellow  earth-billows 
which  she  hurled  against  it  are  the  sodded  breakers  of  bat- 
tle ;  and  there,  where  human  wave  met  wave,  and  the 
spray  of  bayonets  fiercely  flashed,  the  early  grass  grows 
greener  from  its  bloody  watering. 

And  here,  half-way  down  this  slope,  sat  two  men  once, 
and  broke  a  celebrated  backbone  ;  and  here  the  long  can- 
non stands  silently  up,  erect  upon  the  pedestal,  and  stares, 
like  Cyclops,  with  its  grim  eye  toward  heaven. 


THE  MISSISSIPPI  AT  VICKSBURG.  85 

And  here  are  the  caves  in  the  steep,  yellow  walls,  almost 
as  undecaying  as  rock.  Crouching  here  in  terror,  the  peo- 
ple counted  through  weary  nights  the  slow  heart-beats  of 
the  cannonade,  or  listened  breathless  to  its  awful  tumult 
by  day.  They  heard  the  stupendous  how — w — w — w  of 
the  sixty-four-pounder  ;  the  keen  ping — g — g— g  of  the 
of  the  rifle  ball ;  and  that  most  fiendish  and  blood-freezing 
sound  of  battle,  the  diabolical  yell  of  bursted  bombs — 
whew — zz — zu — whish — e — ye — woop  !  Vicksburg  shud- 
ders yet  at  these  hideous  memories ;  nay,  it  is  itself  one 
great  ghastly  shudder  of  hills,  a  perennial  geologic  death- 
rigor. 

A  minute  more  and  I  stand  upon  the  hill  by  the  court- 
house. Looking  down  into  the  sooty  chimneys  of  the 
steamboat,  I  can  almost  see  their  flaming  hearts  of  fire. 
Over  on  the  low  opposite  shore  Grant's  terrible  dogs  of 
war,  squatted  on  their  haunches,  bayed  iron-throated  sum- 
mons at  the  doomed  city,  while  the  blazing  earthworks  in 
its  rear  wrapped  it  in  a  sheet  of  level  flame. 

Far  across  the  blue  flat  of  Louisiana  I  can  see  where  the 
smooth  old  Mississippi,  coming  down  from  the  frozen 
North,  reads  his  long  argument  for  the  Union.  He  rolls 
his  great  flood  southward,  as  if  forgetting  the  Hill  City,  to 
a  point  west  of  me ;  then  doubles  grandly  backward,  then 
eastward ;  flows  in  a  slow  and  solemn  march  toward  the 
National  Cemetery  beneath  the  hill,  where  he  turns  again 
southward,  chafing  his  huge  flank,  as  if  in  affection,  al- 
most against  the  serried  graves,  and  chanting  an  eternal 
requium  to  the  asserters  of  his  liberty ;  hews  his  giant 
highway  in  the  hillside ;  then  sweeps  before  the  cockloft 
city  in  the  pride  of  its  greatness. 

In  Mississippi  we  will  visit  Tammany  Jones,  one  of  those 
drollest  of  all  mortals,  the  Western  piney-woods  men.  It 
was  over  the  doors  of  such,  or  around  their  hats,  that  the 


86  A  VISIT  TO  TAMMANY  JOXES. 

Union  vanguard  sometimes  found  the  mystic  cord,  twisted 
of  a  red  strand  and  a  white  one,  which  said  as  plainly  as 
words  could  say,  "  The  blue  we  dare  not,  but  the  red  we 
will  not."  This  was  the  blood  sprinkled  upon  the  lintel 
which  Sherman  passed  over  in  that  direful  day  when  he 
smote  the  first-born  of  the  rebellious.* 

In  the  vast  primeval  forest  where  he  lives,  there  are 
never  any  tempests  to  keep  his  door  in  a  ghostly  clacking ; 
but  he  hears  all  night,  above  the  roof,  the  melancholy 
soughing  of  the  pines,  like  the  sighing  of  some  lonely, 
wandering  wraith  of  a  Pascagoula.  Sometimes  he  is  start- 
led at  midnight  by  a  clutch  of  talons  on  his  roof,  and  then 
the  sepulchral  voice  of  Madge-howlet  resounds  through  the 
attic  like  a  roll  of  stage-thunder. 

One  of  the  queerest  things  in  human  nature  is  the  early 
rising  of  these  piney-woods  men,  coupled  with  their  egre- 
gious laziness  and  personal  uncleanness.  A  score  of  times 
I  have  known  them  rise  long  before  daybreak,  spit  on  their 
hands,  "  to  git  a  good  start,"  make  a  fire,  and  then  sit  in 
the  house  the  whole  livelong  day. 

By  the  door  there  are  some  stunted  sun-flowers — thoso 
universal  hierophants  of  the  rude  poetry  which  blossoms 
in  the  soul  of  the  lowly.  There  is,  also  a  harmless  and 
necessary  log-built  hen-house,  and  a  little  patch  of  cow- 
peas,  okra  for  the  dish  of  gumbo,  and  "  sick-like  truck." 
Against  the  house  are  stretched  all  manner  of  pelts — rac- 
coons', opossums',  foxes',  and  beavers' — whose  ring-streaked, 
speckled,  and  spotted  tails  flutter  like  the  captured  battle- 
flags  I  once  saw  on  the  cabin  of  a  conquering  Major-Gene- 
ral. These  are  the  parchments  testifying  to  his  graduation 
in  Draw-bead  College,  and  these  caudal  ribbons  are  fairer 
in  his  eyes  than  all  baccalaureate  silks  and  seals. 

*To  be  accurate,  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  all  the  members  of  this  secret 
organization  whom  I  ever  saw  were  in,  and  natives  of  Georgia. 


A  PINEY-WOODS  CHARACTER.  87 

If  I  omit  to  speak  of  his  dogs,  and  of  dogs  in  general, 
may  my  name  be  Ichabod.  Nobody  in  the  chivalrous 
South,  except  Cuffee,  is  such  a  fool  as  to  walk  ;  and  in  the 
night  we  all  looked  of  one  color,  and,  either  by  mistake 
or  by  design,  they  gave  my  calves  many  an  outrageous 
ante-bellum  nip.  A  sad-eyed  hound,  with  his  drooping 
ears,  and  his  long,  melancholy  cry,  making 

"  So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder  " 

as  he  runs  in  the  glorious  chase,  I  admire  to  a  passion ; 
but  these  mangy  tykes,  with  their  ears  eaten  off  close  up 
to  their  heads,  and  their  bobbed  tails — to  be  bitten  by  such 
beasts  !  The  fondness  of  some  of  the  piney-woods  men  for 
these  wretched  curs  passes  anything  recorded  of  London 
or  Benares. 

Tammany  Jones  wears  an  old-fashioned  brindled  suit 
throughout,  bagging  trowsers,  jerkin,  waistcoat  buttoned 
up  to  the  chin,  and  a  fox-skin  cap  with  a  queue  of  tails. 
He  has  an  immense  shock  of  hair,  which  stands  out  all 
around  in  a  bushy  rim  beneath  his  cap.  In  that  part  of 
his  gristly  face  not  concealed  by  his  beard,  you  can  no 
more  read  any  workings  of  his  soul  than  you  could  on  a 
Dutch  clock  which  winks  its  eyes,  except  now  and  then, 
when  he  gives  it  a  sort  of  dry  squeeze  of  self-satisfaction. 
You  must  watch  his  eyes  for  every  thing.  The  pupils 
contract  and  dilate  continually,  like  a  cat's.  Now  they 
glint  with  a  flash  of  clownish  humor,  and  now  they  roll 
whitely  upward,  when  he  is  about  to  utter  some  extraor- 
dinarily whimsical  conceit  which  has  just  flashed  upon  him. 

In  the  cabin,  what  a  clutter ! 

I  have  a  confused  recollection  of  pots,  pans,  kettles,  po- 
ker, wife,  axe,  stag's-horns,  snuff-swab ;  but  the  only  objects 
of  whose  presence  I  am  positively  certain,  are,  the  long- 
handled  gourd,  ornamented  with  a  raccoon's  tail,  and  a 
cob-pipe  whimsically  embellished  with  several  rattlesnake's 


88  MRS.  JONES  AND  THE  CHILDREN. 

rattles.  The  thirteen  small  children  are  all  girls,  regularly 
graded  in  height,except  where  the  war  made  a  gap  in  the 
succession.  Their  only  garments,  I  judge,  are  kirtles  of 
coarse  negro-cloth,  once  almost  white,  which  hang  to  the 
floor,  as  limp  and  as  straight  as  if  they  were  wholly  unoc-  • 
cupied. 

Jones  sits  on  a  tripod  stool  at  one  chimney-corner,  and  I 
at  the  other,  while  the  children  huddle  all  over  the  wood- 
pile in  the  corner,  and  watch  me  with  the  owl-eyed,  un- 
winking stare  of  childhood.  Mrs.  Jones  dusts  the  clay 
hearth  with  a  brush  of  broom-grass,  and  puts  more  yams 
into  the  ashes  for  the  stranger.  Then  she  sifts  meal  into 
a  tray,  and  makes  pones.  These  she  pats  and  pats,  and 
chucks  with  the  spoon  over  and  over  again  in  a  kind  of 
farinaceous  roundelay,  which  seems  to  say : — 

"  The  corn-bread  is  rough, 
The  corn-bread  is  tough, 
But  thank  the  good  Lord  we  have  enough." 

Then  she  lays  two  of  them  side  by  side  in  a  broken  hand- 
led spider.  Meanwhile  Jones  and  I  fall  to  talking. 

"  Well,  now,  I  sa-ay !  if  I'd  been  gwine  to  shoot  a  Yan- 
kee, I'd  never  pinted  a  gun  at  you.  You  look  mo'  like 
one  of  we  uns." 

"  I  am  not  one  of  the  original  stock  ;  but  I  suppose  you 
call  every  Northern  man  a  Yankee  since  the  war  ?" 

•'  Well,  I  reckon,  ya-as.  That  'ar  war  wuz  a  onlucky 
circumstance.  I  alluz  kinder  tuk  to  Yankees  befo'  but 
that  'ar  sorter  rubbed  the  ha'r  up  my  back." 

"  Were  you  badly  treated  by  our  army  ?" 

"  Right  smart,  ya-as.  D'ye  see  that  'ar  gal  thar  ?  Well, 
she  wus'nt  bigger'n  a  fyste  then,  and  was  as  purty  as  a 
speckled  pup.  A  soldier  feller  come  along,  and  thought 
as  how  he  must  have  somethin',  though  'twuz  the  last 
blanket  we  hed  in  the  honsen  ;  so  he  jest  laid  the  gal  onto 
the  flo',  tuk  the  blanket  by  the  corners,  and  histed  it  up, 


JUDGE  SOURS  AXD  CAPTAIN  JARNLEY.  89 

an'  you  orter  seed  that  'ar  gal  roll  out  'cross  the  flo'." 

"  The  soldiers  couldn't  always  tell  who  their  friends 
were." 

"  But  they  sometimes  knowed  mighty  well  who  their 
enemies  wuz.  Thar  wuz  Jedge  Sours,  up  in  Hinds ;  they 
run  him  clean  off,  and  burnt  his  housens,  and  tuk  his  pi- 
aner  and  his  picters  out  in  the  yard  fur  to  make  targets 
outen.  But  I  kinder  felt  hull-footed  when  I  heerd  that 
'ar,  fur  he'd  wanted  secession  so  bad  his  teeth  wuz  loose. 
He  could  whup  a  hull  cow-pen  full  of  Yankees,  and  mind 
the  gap,  he  could.  He  would  fight  a  saw-mill,  and  give  it 
three  licks  the  start.  But  when  a  passel  of  cavalry  fellers 
come  a  trottin'  into  his  yard  one  mornin',  the  way  he  lit 
outen  them  diggin's  wuz  a  caution  to  tom-cats.  He  wuz 
that  bad  skeered  he  run  plumb  agin'  a  yaller  calf  he  had, 
but  he  wuz  half  a  mile  off  befo'  he  heerd  it  blart." 

"  Ha  !  ha !  He  was  considerably  cooled,  then,  before  the 
surrender  came." 

"  You  could  a'  tuk  him  out  through  the  stitches  Of  his 
breeches,  he  wuz  so  small.  I  seed  him  'bout  a  fortnit  after 
his  housens  wuz  done  burnt,  and  he  looked  like  he'd 
let  a  bird  go.  He's  the  wust  whupped  man  in  the  lay-out, 
1  reckon.  Now,  thar  wuz  his  neighbor,  Cap'n  Jarnley,  he 
wuz  a  ole-line  Whig,  and  went  agin'  secedin'  original ;  but 
when  he  seed  'twuzn't  no  use,  he  lit  in,  and  he  fit  till  the 
hull  kit  and  bilin'  busted  up.  I  never  seed  a  man  keep 
his  dander  up  so.  He  wuz  like  the  dog  said  to  the  cat, 
when  he  seed  her  tryin'  to  pull  a  mouse  out  of  the  hole  by 
nippin'  onto  the  eeiid  of  the  tail — <  you  must  purr-severe." 

"  If  everybody  had  been  as  obstinate,  the  South  would 
have  won,  perhaps,  and  the  result  would  have  been  more 
agreeable  to  you." 

"Well,  now,  stranger,  you're  sorter  feelin'  under  my 
ribs.  I  reckon  a  man  had  a  leetle  ruther  see  his  neighbor's 


90  MR.  JONES'  OPINION. 

housen  blowed  down  as  hissen.  But  I've  often  thought, 
kinder  to  myself  like,  mebbe  so  'twuz  better  as  it  turned 
out.  If  we'd  gained  our  freedom,  us  po'  men  would  a' 
been  like  little  dogs  in  high  oats." 

"How  so?" 

"  Well,  all  the  big  secessioners  as  had  niggers,  would  'a 
made  laws  for  no  man  to  vote  'less  he  had  niggers  ;  then 
they'd  tuk  away  eddication  from  us ;  then  they'd  jest  held 
sticks  for  us  to  jump  over,  like  trainin'  pups." 

"  But  now  that  the  negro  works  for  wages,  like  white 
men,  every  tub  will  stand  on  its  own  bottom." 

"  Well,  you  see,  when  a  nigger  is  hired,  it's  mighty  nigh 
as  if  he  wuz  a  slave  agin.  They  knows  they  is  onpleasant 
to  white  men,  and  that  'ar  makes  'em  sorter  meek  like. 
A  secessioner,  as  is  alluz  used  to  slingin'  his  orders  round 
promis'cus,  ruther  have  a  nigger  he  kin  cuss,  as  a  white 
man  that  kin  do  his  own  cussin'  back  again.  Us  po'  men 
is  'bout  the  most  independent  people  ever  was,  I  reckon ; 
and  they  ca-ant  feather  their  beds  off  of  that  goose  with- 
out gittin'  some  squawkin'. 

"  But  they  all  say  now,  they  want  to  see  the  negroes 
sent  out  of  the  South." 

"  Well,  you've  heerd  a  'skeeter  on  a  bull's  horn  befo' 
now,  I  reckon.  They  want  niggers  to  stay  bad  enough  ; 
and  most  of  'em  haint  got  no  mo'  use  fur  we  po'  men  than 
a  coon  has  fur  Sunday.  That's  what  makes  niggers  sech  a 
cuss  to  us.  And  any  furriner  as  comes  hyur  in  reggard  of 
benefitin'  of  hisself,  he's  a  comin'  to  a  goat  fur  to  git  wool. 
If  the  niggers  alone  wuz  agin'  us  we  could  scratch  out 
a  livin' ;  but  secessioners  and  niggers  both — that  'ar's  too 
many  coons  for  the  pup.  You  ca-an't  have  two  blackbirds 
a  pickin'  the  back  of  one  sheep  ;  and  so  long  as  niggers  is 
round,  us  po'  men's  not  gwine  to  git  any  work." 

"  But  I  think  you  can  find  enough  for  both  to  do." 


OF  "  SECESSIOXERS  AXD  NIGGERS."  91 

"I  reckon  thar's  enough;  but  niggers  works  cheaper 
anyhow.  They  lives  jest  on  corn-bread  and  meat,  and  no 
white  man  ca-ant  do  that :  he  wants  a  change,  as  the  bar 
said  when  he  wuz  tired  of  man-meat.  But  niggers  is  the 
most  triflin'est,  no-'countest,  low-down  bein's  on  the  face 
of  the  livin'  yearth.  Jest  let  a  nigger  drink  as  many  new 
malasses  as  he  wants,  and  ride  the  gates,  and  he's  happy 
as  a  lizard  onto  a  rail." 

"  But  I  see  a  good  many  white  folks,  who,  if  not  riding 
the  gates,  are  at  least  in  the  house  most  of  the  time." 

"  But  the  secessioners  has  all  the  land,  and  the  niggers 
gits  all  the  work ;  and  that  'ar  gives  a  po'  man  'casion  fur 
meditatin'  a  good  deal  in  a  settin'  postur.  All  them  things 
together  makes  the  ile  onto  our  soup  powerful  thin  like. 

"Now,  speakin'  of  niggers,  thar  wuz  a  little  circum- 
stance happened  hyur  as  shows  how  worthless  they  is. 
Thar  wuz  a  couple  of  shoats  of  'em  a  livin'  together  in 
one  cabin  with  both  thur  families  about  two  miles  over 
towards  Yallobosh,  which  folks  never  made  out  what  they 
lived  onto.  They  never  done  no  work,  not  a  lick ;  they 
didn't  beg  nuthin',  and  they  hedn't  nuthin  nohow,  only 
the  housens  they  lived  into.  Facts,  I  wuz  too  fast ;  I  orter 
said  they  had  two  guns,  and  two  or  three  pistols. 

"  Well,  one  day  them  two  niggers  they  went  out  for  to 
hunt,  as  they  said.  'Pears  like  they  made  thar  livin  that 
'ar  way.  They  hunted  an'  they  hunted,  and  they  couldn't 
find  nuthin'  but  a  cow  belongin'  to  one  of  my  neighbors. 
They  shot  the  cow,  bein'  as  they  couldn't  find  nuthin'  else, 
and  then  they  commenced  a  skinnin'  of  her.  But  'pears 
she  jumped  up  all  to  wunst,  and  hooked  'em  both  to  death  ! 
Leastways  that  was  the  story  roun  hyur.  But  the  curo'- 
usest  thing  of  all  wuz,  she  gored  'em  both  into  the  head, 
and  the  holes  wuzn't  bigger'n  my  little  finger,  and  went 
plumb  through. 


92  A  CONTRARY  CANUCK. 

"Well,  the  story  got  out  'bout  the  cow  hookin'  two  nig- 
gers to  death,  and  of  course,  thar  hed  to  be  a  coroner's 
jury  set  onto  'em.  Me  an'  another  feller,  an'  a  Canuck  as 
wusn't  naturalized,  and  a  boy  seventeen  years  old,  an'  two 
niggers,  wuz  the  jury;  an'  we  went  out  fur  to  hunt 
fur  'em.  We  beat  up  an'  down  right  smart  amongst 
the  bushes,  but  couldn't  find  nuthin'. 

"  Last  the  coroner — he  was  a  right  sensible  cuss — says 
he  l  boys,  we'll  take  the  testimony  of  this  hyur  feller  as 
heerd  'bout  them  dead  niggers,  or  said  he  seed  'em,  'an 
we'll  swear  to't,  and  it'll  be  all  right'.  So  he  sot  down, 
an'  writ  out  a  verdict,  how  it  happened  that  the  niggers 
was  killed  by  a  cow,  an'  read  it  to  us,  and  we  made  our 
marks  to't.  But  this  hyur  Canuck,  the  derned  skunk  !  he 
swore  he  wouldn't  make  his  mark  to  no  sich  docyment, 
'less  he  seed  the  niggers  we  sot  onto.  So  we  had  to  git  up, 
an'  go  to  huntin'  agin,  all  on  account  of  this  ornary  con- 
trairy  cuss ;  an'  it  tuk  us  the  best  part  of  the  day  to  find 
the  niggers,  and  set  onto  'em.  Then  the  Canuck  he  made 
his  mark  to't." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  blew  a  strong  blast 
through  the  stem,  then  laid  it  on  the  mantle,  and  added 
"  Come,  set  up,  stranger,  and  take  a  snook." 

We  place  each  his  stool  or  bench  around  the  table,  which 
the  fat  pine  fire  lights  up  more  gorgeously  than  many-jet- 
ted gas.  There  are  the  roast  yams  from  the  ashes,  deli- 
cious as  can  be  eaten  only  in  Mississippi ;  chitterlings ; 
and  bacon  with  cabbage.  If  the  reader  knows  what  chit- 
terlings are,  the  word  is  enough ;  if  not,  let  it  suffice  to 
say  they  are  sausages.  The  cabbage,  or  collards,  boiled 
with  bacon,  are  a  materia  circa  quam  for  a  good  deal  of 
sport-making  by  Northern  travelers,  and  over  them  a 
great  many  noses  are  daintily  turned  up — and  justly,  when 
the  dish  is  prepared  by  the  negroes  and  the  lower  class  of 


SUPPER,  AND  AFTERWARD.  93 

whites.  But,  after  all,  it  is  a  dish  which  was  served  up  to 
Jupiter  himself,  as  recorded  by  Ovid,  in  "Baucis  and 
Philemon." 

Supper  is  dispatched  in  profound  silence.  Then  the 
woman  sits  by  the  chimney-corner,  rests  her  gaunt,  sallow 
elbows  on  her  knees,  leans  her  head  upon  her  hands,  and 
sucks  her  snuff-swab.  There  is  an  hour  or  two  of  talk, 
with  many  a  stupid  "pause,  and  many  a  long,  clownish 
yawn  from  all  parts  of  the  house.  Then  the  family  dis- 
tribute themselves  in  various  beds  and  "  shakedowns."  I 
decline  any  of  them,  and,  being  somewhat  modest,  am 
obliged  to  look  hard  at  the  fire  till  there  is  profound  silence 
in  the  rear,  indicating  that  the  transition  has  been  effected. 
During  the  night  there  is  an  ominous  mauling  and  scratch- 
ing in  the  bed-quilts,  and  occasionally  a  faint  squeal  from 
a  child,  when  the  attack  is  heavier  than  usual.  But 
thanks  to  the  good  ventilation  of  the  cabin,  I  make  a  tole- 
rable night  of  it  in  the  only  rocking-chair. 


CHAPTER  YII. 
ON  THE  DOLEFUL  FLATS. 

HEN  I  arrived  in  Yicksburg,  I  entered  in  my 
notes  this  : — Starting  at  Baleigh,  where  Sherman 
ended,  I  rested  in  Savannah,  where  he  rested,  and 
am  now  in  Yicksburg,  where  be  began.  The  track  which, 
with  the  mobility  of  an  ancient  conqueror,  he  drew  eight 
hundred  miles  through  the  rebellion,  I  have  traced  by  the 
echoes  of  his  dreaded  and  hated  name.  Six  weeks  I  have 
listened,  with  what  patience  I  could,  to  the  story  sounded 
nightly  in  my  ears  of  the  pullets  and  the  breastpins  filched 
away  by  his  bummers.  Many  have  been  these  "  tales  of 
a  wayside  inn,"  but,  instead  of  the  birds  of  Killingworth 
slain  in  one  of  them,  it  was  that  identical  turkey-cock 
killed  in  all  of  them,  by  swallowing  a  Federal  ramrod. 

To-morrow  I  will  walk  by  a  way  which  Sherman  never 
marched  in  ;  and  then  I  hope  to  hear  these  accursed  hen- 
stories  no  more.  Yet  I  feel  that  my  self-immolation  has 
been  productive  of  benefit,  for  it  seemed  to  do  my  hosts 
good  to  find  some  new  ears  for  their  grievances. 

A  sable  Charon  ferried  me  over  Old  Soap-suds,  on 
whose  vast  bosom  somewhere  it  always  rains.  He  was  a 
greasy,  sleepy  pot-wolloper,  and  nearly  capsized  his  wretch- 
ed craft  by  missing  his  stroke  in  the  water  and  falling  flat 
on  his  back. 

I  scrambled  up  fifteen  feet  of  stratified  muck  and  turn- 


BEYOND  THE  MISSISSIPPI.  95 

ed  to  look  for  Yicksburg.  But  a  dense  fog,  swirling  up 
the  river,  had  buried  boats,  wharfs,  and  city,  and  I  only 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  highest  building  floating  like 
Nephelococcygia  on  the  clouds. 

Along  the  bank  there  was  a  row  of  little  negro-huts, 
miserably  cobbled  of  driftwood — the  sole  occupants  of  the 
deep,  dense,  mahogany  soil.  They  are  planted  thus  close 
to  the  river  so  that,  in  those  days  when  the  Mississippi 
covers  States,  and  all  the  mules  are  ranged  along  the  levee, 
braying  piteously  to  the  passing  steamboats,  and  nibbling 
each  the  other's  tail  of  burrs  for  lack  of  hay,  their  wretch- 
ed tenants  can  flee  away  in  skiffs  to  Vicksburg. 

Opposite  Yicksburg  there  is  a  long  and  narrow  penin- 
sula. Hence,  in  a  winter  flood,  the  river  surges  with 
stupendous  force  over  the  bank,  but  chiefly  at  the  neck, 
where  the  current  bowls  straight  upon  the  land,  and  leaps 
all  levees  in  a  mighty  lunge,  sweeping  down  gigantic 
sweet-gums  of  centuries  growth.  A  mile  or  two  back 
from  the  river  the  road  plunged  into  the  original  forest, 
and  there  my  tribulations  began.  Enormous  gullies  were 
ripped  in  the  ground,  as  if  the  truculent  river-god,  wroth 
with  men  who  had  dared  build  railroads  in  his  domains, 
had  not  only  demolished  them,  but  swallowed  the  very 
ground  underneath.  In  other  places  this  demon  of  floods 
had  climbed  up  the  embankment,  seized  the  detested  track, 
and  laid  it  over,  unbroken  for  rods  together,  high  upon 
the  bushes. 

The  water  of  the  lower  Mississippi  is  said  to  be  the 
heaviest  fresh  water  on  the  continent.  Certainly  it  is,  if 
the  amazing  strength  with  which  it  hurls  and  wrenches 
iron  rails  is  any  indication. 

In  a  dense  canebrake  I  ran  on  a  bear  nosing  about.  With 
a  frightened  snort,  he  tore  away,  smashing  down  a  wide, 
cracking  swath  of  canes.  There  were  the  most  execrable, 


96  A  NEGRO  PLANTER— TOOKEY  SMOOK. 

scratching  thickets  of  dewberry  creepers,  trumpet-flowers, 
elders,  and  all  manner  of  brambles,  rasping  and  tearing 
me  at  every  step. 

Here  the  negroes  are  beating  down  the  burrs  in  a  cot- 
ton-field, scarcely  visible  in  the  bristling  tangle.  How 
lusty  is  the  burden  of  song  they  thwack  along  the  swath ! 
A  negro's  poetry,  like  his  religion,  is  all  in  his  arms  and 
legs. 

Let  any  one  wade  from  Yicksburg  across  this  dreary  flat 
in  winter,  and  he  will  then  possess  a  lively  conception  of 
the  vastness  of  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi — and  not  till 
then.  And  when  sixty  miles  from  Yicksburg,  he  still  sees 
the  mark  of  its  yellow  grip  upon  the  trees,  and,  seventy- 
five  miles  in  the  interior,  still  has  to  answer  the  planter's 
anxious  question,  "  "What  is  the  river  doing  ?" — then  does 
he  begin  to  comprehend  the  greatness  of  the  Mississippi. 

And  here  I  saw  a  strange  sight,  one  that  I  never  saw 
before.  It  was  a  negro  on  horseback.  And — what  was 
stranger  still — the  dogs  that  followed  him  were  not  the 
wretched  curs  negroes  keep,  but  blooded  hounds.  His 
horse  was  sleek,  and  himself  of  a  noble  physical  stature, 
portly  and  majestic  as  any  cotton-lord.  He  owned  a  broad 
plantation,  and  spoke  with  that  gravity  which  is  given  to 
the  possessors  of  the  soil.  Mark  what  he  said : — 

"  Perhaps  one  half  of  my  race  have  the  will  to  make 
an  honest  living.  But  not  one  third  of  them  have  judg- 
ment enough  to  keep  land,  if  they  had  any.  It  would 
speedily  pass  out  of  their  hands.  But  the  white  man  is 
as  much  to  blame  as  the  negro  for  his  laziness.  I  work 
with  my  men  in  the  field,  and  they  do  me  twice  the  labor 
they  do  for  a  white  overseer." 

I  journeyed  several  days  with  an  old  negro,  named  Too- 
key  Smoot,  who  was  going  to  Texas.  He  had  a  sad  and 
melancholy  history.  He  and  his  wife  and  a  little  daughter 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF  VICKSBURG.  97 

were  slaves  in  Yicksburg  when  the  war  broke  out,  but  he 
contrived  to  escape,  and  enlisted  in  a  colored  regiment. 
He  was  present  at  the  siege  of  Yicksburg,  and  with  his 
captain's  glass,  toward  the  last  of  the  siege,  he  could  see 
his  own  little  cabin,  with  the  morning-glory  trailing  over 
the  back-window,  just  as  it  did  when  he  left  it  two  years 
before.  But  his  wife  and  daughter  were  hidden  in  the 
caves  with  their  owners,  and,  as  he  looked  day  after  day 
and  saw  the  cabin  always  deserted,  he  thought  they  were 
dead. 

They  had  almost  perished  from  famine  in  those  dreadful 
months,  and  when  one  day  the  thunder  of  the  cannonade 
stopped,  and  there  were  whispered  rumors  of  a  surrender, 
and  his  wife  and  daughter  crawled  out  into  the  sunlight 
once  more,  they  were  dazed  and  blinded.  They  sat  on 
the  top  of  a  hill,  and  eagerly  watched  and  waited.  Too- 
key 's  wife  was  determined,  if  the  cannonade  commenced 
again,  she  would  sit  there  and  await  the  coming  of  a 
friendly  cannon-ball.  At  last  "  little  Jinny "  his  daugh- 
ter, spied  the  flags  of  truce,  and  cried  out : — 

"  O,  mammy  !  They're  shakin'  out  their  table-cloth,  aint 
they  ?  It's  been  such  a  long  time  since  we  shook  out  our 
table-cloth,  aint  it,  mammy  ?  Papy  will  come  now,  and 
bring  us  a  piece  of  bread?" 

Then  at  last  Tookey  marched  in  with  the  troops,  past 
his  old  cabin,  where  his  wife  was  waiting  for  him.  She 
knew  him  a  long  way  off,  and  tried  to  run  and  meet  him, 
but  fell  to  the  ground.  He  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms, 
while  "  little  Jinny  "  clung  around  him  ;  but  at  that  last 
moment  of  supreme  happiness  some  fatal  bullet  pierced 
her  heart  as  she  hung  swooning  in  his  arms.  And,  to  fill 
his  cup  of  sorrow,  "  little  Jinny  "  died  in  the  freedmen's 
hospital. 

Poor  Tookey  was  utterly  broken-hearted,  and  wept  like 


98  THE  BAYOU  REGIOX— CROSSING  A  BAYOU. 

a  child  while  he  told  me  this  sad  story.     Yet,  with  the 
buoyancy  of  his  race,  he  would  be  passing  merry  at  times. 

Nothing  could  be  more  ugly,  more  dismal,  than  this 
bayou  region.  Long  naked  grapevines  swing  down  from 
the  vast  cypresses,  through  which  the  wind  swoops  with 
an  inexpressibly  ghostly  hollow  moan.  Either  there  are 
no  birds,  or  they  partake  the  sullen  spirit  of  the  woods. 
There  is  one  poor  little  songster,  known  only  to  Audubon, 
which  seems  to  be  acting  as  a  land-agent,  and  constantly 
chirrups,  in  a  most  doleful  strain,  "  Soil,  soil,  muck,  trees, 
trees  !"  There  are  not  even  the  windrows  of  leaves,  brown 
and  russet,  raked  by  prankish  winds,  but  all  the  ground  is 
strewed  with  the  wrrecks  and  rubble  of  the  freshets.  And 
then  these  snaky  bayous,  wriggling  in  the  yellow  muck, 
arched  over  with  gloomy  gray  cypresses  and  funereal 
moss ! 

One  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  came  to  the  worst 
bayou  of  all,  choked  up  with  bridge-timbers  and  driftwood. 
The  bridge  was  gone,  and  the  raft  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bayou.  I  shouted  to  a  negro  who  was  far  away  on 
the  other  side,  then  Tookey  took  up  the  refrain,  then  I 
yelled  again,  until  I  was  "  out  of  all  whooping." 

It  was  rapidly  growing  dark ;  the  long  moss  overhead 
began  to  sway  with  a  mysterious  and  ghostly  motion,  pre- 
saging a  storm ;  and  the  hoarse  and  eldritch  screams  of 
the  owls  were  echoing  with  a  most  dismal  reverberation 
among  the  cypresses.  Poor  Tookey  was  so  frightened 
that  his  teeth  actually  chattered. 

A  piece  of  timber  floated  idly  in  the  edge  of  the  bayou. 
By  much  persuasion  I  induced  Tookey  to  get  on  it,  and 
attempt  to  cross  over  after  the  raft.  lie  crawled  carefully 
on  it  and  then  slowly  raised  himself  up  into  a  semi-circle, 
looking  like  a  circus  monkey,  and  was  about  to  poke  the 
wrater  with  his  pole,  when  pop !  the  treacherous  log  bob- 


DESERTED  VILLAGES.  99 

bed  over,  and  with  a  shuddering  "  O,  Lawd  a  massy !" 
poor  Tookey  soused  in  head  foremost  like  a  bullfrog.  He 
grabbed  his  hands  full  of  muck,  and  just  as  his  woolly 
head  emerged,  I  heard  an  owl  laugh  like  a  fiend. 

Tookey  scrambled  out,  and  laughed.  "  "Well,"  said  he, 
as  he  held  his  head  over  and  thumped  on  the  other  side, 
to  knock  the  water  out  of  his  ear,  "  de  moral  tale  dat  I 
induces  from  dis  fact  ob  de  succumstance  is  dis : — 'When 
you  can't  git  along  in  dis  world  a  standin',  you  must  git 
along  a  settin'." 

With  that  he  leaped  courageously  astride  the  log,  pad- 
dled it  across,  and  brought  the  raft.  When  we  finally  got 
across  the  bayou  it  was  pitch  dark,  and  I  could  neither 
keep  the  path  nor  find  any  house.  After  much  forlorn 
groping,  I  crept  into  a  gin,  and  upon  a  downy  heap  of  cot- 
ton slept  snugly. 

Though  it  was  the  third  year  after  the  war,  no  healing 
hand  of  reconstruction  had  touched  this  dismal  region. 
Sometimes  I  would  see  a  few  fowls  or  domestic  animals 
wandering  vacantly  about  the  cabin,  with  a  strange  shy- 
ness in  their  actions,  as  if  they  felt  the  house  was  haunted ; 
and  when  I  knocked,  there  would  be  no  response. 

No  words  can  describe  the  sense  of  loneliness  I  felt  when 
wandering  among  these  deserted  hovels,  where  the  fowls 
had  been  left  without  a  master.  The  poor  creatures  seem- 
ed frightened  by  the  long  silence ;  and  they  would  run 
away  in  mute  terror,  or  stand  at  a  distance,  watching, 
without  uttering  a  single  sound,  as  if  under  the  spell  of 
some  ghastly  spectacle  of  death  or  murder.  I  have  been 
moved  almost  to  tears  by  the  mournful  pleading  gaze 
which  the  old  house-dog,  left  all  alone,  turned  upon  me  as 
he  ran  away  a  little,  and  then  stopped  to  look  back. 

Again,  I  approach  a  squalid  hovel,  where  two  or  three 
children  are  playing  in  an  unnatural  silence  before  the 


100  SAD  PICTURES. 

door,  A  faint  voice  invites  me  to  enter.  The  floor  of  the 
only  room  is  trodden  with  mire,  and  all  the  household 
utensils  are  strewn  about.  Both  father  and  mother  lie  on 
wretched  pallets,  the  fever-flame  slowly  wasting  in  the 
socket ;  or,  perhaps  one  lies  already  sinless  and  pallid  with 
the  "  white  radiance  of  eternity."  The  dim  glazing  eyes 
of  the  living  are  turned  upon  me,  and  I  faintly  hear  : — 
<:We  wanted  to  earn  our  bread,  but  there  was  none  to 
hire  us." 

God,  pity  the  white  poor  man  in  a  land  where  labor  is 
black,  and  the  black  man  in  a  land  where  weakness  is  a 
crime ! 

And  the  houses  of  the  strong — where  were  they  ?  And 
the  strong  themselves  ?  "  O  Eome  1"  cried  Lucan,  as  he 
wandered  through  the  ruins  of  the  civil  war,  "  O  Rome  ! 
destroyed  by  Roman  valor  !" 

In  South  Carolina,  even  in  those  places  which  the  flames 
of  war  wasted  for  forty  months,  there  were  never  lacking 
witnesses,  living  witnesses,  of  their  times.  There  were 
always  blacks  in  the  little  colonies  of  cabins  who  knew 
the  history  of  '•  Ole  Marse,"  and  could  relate  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  two  spectral  chimneys  that  stood  among  them. 
But  here  I  wandered  through  street  after  street  of  these 
humble  villages,  which  once  were  musical  with  the  cackling 
of  little  pickaninnies,  and  the  weird  mournful  voice  of  sing- 
ing women ;  but  they  were  now  silent  as  the  grave. 
Sometimes  a  negro  child  crept  stealthily  among  the  wrecks 
of  the  cabins,  with  a  crouching  tread,  so  unusual  for  a 
black  in  daylight,  as  if  afraid  of  hearing  its  own  footfall, 
and  shivering  in  the  dank  blasts  of  winter.  "  Poor  Tom's 
a-cold." 

But  where  were  the  others  ?  %^h  !  when  the  Mississippi 
shall  give  up  its  teeming  dead ;  and  when  the  forgotten 
multitudes  who  sleep  in  unknown  trenches  shall  come  up 


VISIT  TO  A  VOODOO  PRIESTESS.  101 

through  the  yielding  sod ;  then  shall  they  appear !  No 
loyal  household  in  the  North  was  disturbed  in  its  warm 
woolens  when  each  swarthy  corpse  went  down  at  mid- 
night, with  a  cold  gurgle,  into  the  Mississippi ;  or  was  car- 
ried out  from  the  putrid  camp  to  be  flung  like  offal  to  a 
common  infamy.  No  Dix  or  Nightingale  was  there  in 
those  pest-camps,  to  speak  some  sweet  and  soothing  word 
to  each  troubled  soul  before  it  went  out  on  its  dark  flight ; 
or  to  drop  a  pitying  tear  for  the  unspeakable  sorrow  of 
the  freedman,  who,  like  poor  Tookey,  in  the  very  moment 
of  reunion  and  of  his  great  joy,  had  seen  the  long-lost  one 
stricken  before  his  eyes,  and  sat  now  at  her  grave, 

"  At  those  willing  feet,  that  never 
More  would  lightly  run  to  meet  him, 
Never  more  would  lightly  follow." 

"When  I  was  in  Yicksburg,  I  visited  one  of  the  freed- 
men's  graveyards,  to  which  those  two  memorable  winters 
of  1863  and  1864  contributed  their  holocausts.  In  the 
great  multitude  of  unmarked  graves,  here  and  there  was 
one  which  bore  some  trifling  shrubs  of  affection.  On  one 
of  them — touching  emblem  ! — were  some  withered  cotton- 
stalks.  Thus  Sappho  relates  that  Themiscus  laid  his  oar 
and  net  on  the  grave  of  his  son,  who  was  a  fisherman. 

One  day  I  went  with  Tookey  to  visit  an  old  crone  who 
was  reputed  to  be  a  Yoodoo  priestess.  She  was  a  with- 
ered old  hag,  whose  occupation  seemed  to  be  gone  since 
the  negroes  were  emancipated,  and  so,  with  many  pious 
prayers  and  ejaculations  upon  our  heads,  she  asked  us  for 
alms,  "jest  a  quarter,  massa,  fur  a  mighty  little  '11  do  me, 
'cause  I'se  gwine  to  die  right  soon."  Tookey  had  nothing 
to  give,  and,  from  the  appearance  of  her  cabin,  I  was  not 
inclined  to  consider  it  a  case  of  special  hardship ;  so  we 
moved  along.  Then  she  began  to  heap  upon  us  terrible 
imprecations. 


102  NEGRO  SUPERSTITION. 

Tookey  was  frightened  beyond  measure,  for  his  super- 
stition was  involved,  and  he  begged  me  to  give  her  some- 
thing, for  he  said  the  curse  of  this  old  woman  would  bring 
upon  us  the  direst  vengeance  of  heaven.  To  pacify  him, 
we  went  back,  and  I  gave  her  a  small  piece  of  the  current 
paper  of  the  Republic.  This  appeased  her  wrath,  and 
Tookey  evidently  felt  much  relieved  in  his  mind.  I  start- 
ed on  again,  but  he  still  lingered,  half-fascinated,  half-ter- 
rified, like  a  charmed  bird,  as  if  fearful  he  should  leave 
her  with  some  evil  spell  on  his  soul.  They  talked  ear- 
nestly and  mysteriously  together  many  minutes,  and  when 
he  rejoined  me,  he  said  she  had  offered  to  sell  him  a  ticket 
to  heaven  for  ten  dollars.  He  regretted  exceedingly  that 
he  had  not  that  amount  of  money. 

As  nearly  as  I  could  penetrate  Tookey' s  mind,  his  belief 
in  regard  to  this  old  hag  was,  that  she  was  an  agent  of  the 
devil,  or  at  least  empowered  to  inflict  upon  men  the  direst 
torments  of  hell ;  and  yet  could  insure  his  entrance  into 
heaven ! 

Yet,  away  from  these  miserable  superstitions,  Tookey 
was  a  sensible  negro.  One  day  we  stopped  at  a  plantation, 
where  the  simple  fellows,  gathering  about,  and  finding  I 
was  from  Yicksburg  and  a  "  Yankee,"  wanted  a  speech. 
I  commissioned  Tookey  to  speak  in  my  behalf.  Mounting 
a  barrel,  he  launched  forth : — 

"  I  tell  you,  you  tinks  you  is  free,  but  you  an't,  say 
what  you  is  a  mind  to.  You  is  slaves  ob  laziness,  slaves 
ob  pride,  slaves  ob  ig'nance,  slaves  ob — ob  bavin'  no  mon- 
ey. Git  you  some  chickens  in  de  coop,  a  sow  an'  pigs  in 
de  pen,  git  yer  wives  some  clean  caliker,  some  book-larnin' 
in  you'  heads,  an'  some  money  in  you'  buckskins, — ef  you 
got  any — den  you  is 

At  this  point  of  his  oration  the  barrel  head  collapsed, 
and  he  dropped  down  on  an  old  goose  sitting  at  the  bot- 


TOOKEY  AND  THE  GOOSE.  103 

torn.  He  pitched  forward  with  the  barrel  around  him, 
a iid  the  goose  seized  his  wool,  and  commenced  hammering 
him  with  her  wings,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  his 
audience.  At  last  he  got  up,  beat  off  the  goose,  scratched 
his  wool,  and  let  off  his  pet  phrase  : — 

"  De  moral  tale  dat  I  induces  from  dis  fact  ob  de  suc- 
cnmstance  is  dis : — Slavery  .was  jest  like  dat  'ar  goose ; 
when  freedom  come,  we  jest  dropped  plumb  down  to  the 
ground,  and  ole  marse,  'stead  of  dividin'  up  de  land  an, 
helpin'  us,  jest  jumped  onto  us,  like  dat  'ar  goose,"  shaking 
his  fist  at  it — "  dog-on  yer  picter,  you  old  lightnin'  sep- 
ulchre dat  lays  rotten  eggs !" 

The  planters  of  the  Mississippi  valley  proper  are  some- 
thing more  reserved  and  frigid  than  those  of  the  sunny 
"  homes  of  Alabama."  One  of  their  number  explained  to 
me  that  it  was  a  relic  of  the  flat-boat  era.  Flat-boatmen 
coasting  along,  or  walking  home  from  New  Orleans'  far 
from  home  and  its  enforced  morals,  sometimes  shamefully 
forgot  the  proprieties  of  life,  and  abused  the  confidence  of 
planters  and  their  wives. 

Yet,  for  all  this,  I  know  not  where  in  all  the  Union  we 
may  better  seek  for  one  bearing — 

"  The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman." 

You  shall  see  him  in  the  public  bar-room  of  Monroe. 
He  comes  in  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  his  honest  Ken- 
tucky jeans,  and  his  "  cotton-bale  solidity  of  suavity." 
The  habit  of  authority  sits  lightly  upon  him.  The  soul 
of  serenity  is  in  him.  The  election  of  the  people  is  more 
unerring  than  the  investiture  of  courts.  The  "  Count " 
or  the  "  Duke  "  may  be  a  born  churl,  but  your  "  Judge  " 
or  your  "  Colonel "  seldom. 

From  the  Washita  to  Red  River  it  is  much  like  Geor- 
gia—red-clay hills  and  piney-woods,  inhabited  by  a  hearty 
and  manly  race  of  planters. 


104:  SHREVEPORT— VISIT  TO  AX  EDITOR. 

Shreveport  lias  a  most  admirable  location — a  natural 
bench  of  bank  for  its  wharf,  and  one  a  little  higher  up, 
safe  above  high-water,  for  its  business.  Most  of  its  stores 
are  little,  raw-looking,  one-story  brick  houses,  with  contin- 
uous awnings,  in  the  Southern  fashion.  The  streets  are 
laid  with  boards,  and  are  full  of  red  dust,  dogs,  and  im- 
mense teams  of  huge-horned,  Texan  oxen,  hitched  to  cot- 
ton-wains and  lying  down  along  the  middle  of  the  streets ; 
while  the  pavements  are  thronged  with  big-bearded,  sal- 
low, gray-coated  Texans. 

I  went  up  to  an  editor's  sanctum  to  get  some  exchanges ; 
but  there  were  only  three,  and  they  were  under  the  edi- 
tor, who  was  asleep  on  his  back  on  top  of  the  table.  I 
went  out  and  staid  an  hour,  "  assisted "  at  two  dog-fights, 
one  cock-fight,  and  a  negro  revival  meeting ;  then  returned, 
and  found  the  editor  picking  his  teeth  with  a  bowie-knife. 
He  gave  me  all  the  old  papers  he  had,  and  invited  me  to 

take  supper  with  him. 
******** 

Did  Grant  and  Lee  terminate  the  "irrepressible  conflict" 
at  Appomattox  ?  the  thoughtful  patriot,  who  travels  in  the 
South,  will  often  ask  himself.  Doubtless  there  will  never 
be  another  general  appeal  to  arms  ;  but  can  we  hope  that 
the  ground-swell  of  bitter  rancors,  following  the  mighty 
storm,  will  subside  as  soon  as  it  did  in  England,  as  soon 
even  as  in  Rome  ? 

Can  there  ever  be  fraternal  concord  and  ardent  devotion 
to  a  common  government  in  a  country,  of  which  one  half 
is  democratic  and  the  other  radically  aristocratic  ? 

But  is  the  South  necessarily  and  permanently  aristocratic? 
Lacedsemonia,  though  only  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
south  of  the  "  fierce  democracy "  of  Athens,  was  built 
into  a  grim  and  rigorous  aristocracy  by  the  presence  of 
the  Helot  slaves.  The  great  hacendados  of  Mexico,  too, 


THE  WAR  OF  RACES.  105 

form  an  aristocracy  which  stood  on  the  necks  of  Indian 
peons.  But  there  is  Italy,  where  no  slavery  exists,  and 
where  there  is  no  inferior  race,  which  is  greatly  more  dem- 
ocratic than  Prussia.  The  Italian  nobility  is  more  liberal 
than  the  German.  Indeed,  in  the  political  sphere,  the 
German  is  the  most  absurd  man  on  earth.  Above  all 
other  men,  he  should  pray  most  earnestly  with  the  prayer 
of  Agur ;  for  when  his  stomach  is  full,  he  is  a  courtier ; 
and  when  it  is  empty,  he  is  a  demagogue. 

But  I  hear  the  Northern  objector  say,  now  that  the 
negroes  are  free,  the  South  will  gradually  become  demo- 
cratic. Let  us  seek  a  comparison  again.  There  is  Bohe- 
mia, populated  by  the  two  races,  Tzechs  and  Germans. 
There  is  not  such  a  vast  gulf  between  these  two  as  between 
the  Southern  whites  and  negroes ;  yet  the  Germans  are 
thrust  down  to  a  position  of  the  utmost  poverty,  and  are 
very  rarely  landholders.  There  is  Hungary,  peopled 
nearly  equally  by  Magyars  and  Slovacks.  The  Slovacks 
belong  to  the  great  and  powerful  Slavanic  race,  but,  be- 
ing thrown  among  the  superior  Magyars,  they  are  trod- 
den down  infinitely  below  them,  into  a  squalor  and  deg- 
radation worse  than  the  negroes  ever  were  in  as  slaves. 

Just  so  long  as  there  are  negroes  numerous  in  the  South, 
with  their  admitted  and  incurable  inferiority,  whether 
bond  or  free,  just  so  long  will  the  few  put  their  hands  on 
their  shoulders,  and  lift  themselves  up,  and  tread  down  the 
many.  Just  so  long  as  there  are  negroes  in  the  South, 
whether  bond  or  free,  just  so  long  will  there  be  a  "  poor 
white  trash." 

Then  consider  the  effect  on  the  negroes  themselves  of 
this  most  unhappy  mingling  of  races.  Everybody  who 
has  been  much  in  the  South  has  doubtless  often  heard  one 
call  another  "you  nigger,"  or  "you  black  nigger."  Would 
they  do  this  in  Africa  ?  Why  not  ?  Because  there  are  no 
5* 


106  THE  POOR  WHITES. 

white  men  there.  They  would  not  do  it  here,  if  it  did 
not  sting.  How  can  a  negro  reach  the  highest  things 
which  are  possible  to  him,  when  both  white  and  black  are 
ever  ready  with  this  brand  to  scorch  the  wings  of  his 
ambition  ? 

I  think  I  can  claim,  without  egotism,  that  I  sought  out 
the  poor  whites  in  their  homes  more  faithfully  than  most 
travelers  in  the  South  have  done.  I  have  seen  and  felt  as 
few  have  cared  to,  the  saddening  ignorance  and  apathy  of 
that  class,  and  the  unspeakable  mischiefs  and  miseries  that 
grow  up  from  the  juxtaposition  of  the  races. 

And  yet  there  is  a  remnant  of  good  blood  in  these  men, 
good  fighting  blood.  It  was  these  same  stolidly  apathetic 
and  ignorant  men  who  fought  the  battles  of  the  rebellion. 
And  who  of  us  can  forget  the  keen  and  bitter  anguish 
with  which  we  beheld  that  despised  rabble  break  our  noble 
legions  in  the  day  of  battle,  when  the  miserable  bungling 
on  the  Potomac  turned  their  magnificent  valor  into  shame. 

It  was  some  small  consolation,  and  yet  a  most  sadden- 
ing reflection,  that  these  were  Americans  all,  and  not  for- 
eigners. As  I  have  wandered  at  midnight  over  the  bloody 
and  shot-torn  sward  about  Atlanta,  where  thirteen  times 
beneath  a  summer's  sun  these  intrepid  fellows,  though 
guiltless  of  the  wicked  rebellion,  had  charged  the  very 
intrenchments  of  Death,  and  where  the  placid  moon  and 
the  stars  looked  down  upon  the  pale  cold  faces  of  the  fallen 
— brother  slain  by  brother — I  have  cried,  "  Ah !  my  be- 
loved country,  how  many  bloody  tears  hast  thou  poured 
for  that  primal  sin  of  bringing  to  thy  shores  a  race  of 
bondmen  1" 

Then  came  the  surrender,  and  these  haggard  and  wasted 
regiments,  after  serving  all  too  well  their  wicked  deceivers, 
crept  back  to  an  estate  which  was  worse  than  death. 

Some  of  them  had  had  their  eyes  partly  disenchanted. 


AFTER  THE  WAR.  107 

They  had  sometimes  seen  the  sword  brandished  over  them 
with  the  old  insolence  of  the  cotton-lord ;  they  had  seen  it 
swim  in  its  airy  circles  with  the  trained  flourish  of  the 
lash.  They  saw  dimly  the  source  of  their  calamities,  and 
when  disbanded,  many  of  them  wreaked  blindly  on  lord 
and  freedman,  the  guilty  agent  and  the  innocent  cause, 
their  indiscriminating  vengeance. 

But  the  saddest  thing  of  all  that  sad  war  was  its  termi- 
nation. The  conqueror  went  back  to  an  anvil  or  a  loom 
on  which  lay  only  the  softened  malediction  of  the  Al- 
mighty ;  but  the  conquered  returned  to  a  plough  on  which 
the  negro  had  riveted  the  degradation  of  the  curse  of  Ca- 
naan. The  one  returned  to  ovations,  to  pensions,  to  a 
happy  home ;  the  other,  to  humiliation,  to  unspeakable 
poverty  and  despair.  It  is  a  cruel  and  heartless  falsehood 
to  say  that  the  degradation  of  the  Southern  poor  is  of  their 
own  making.  As  well  accuse  the  poor  of  England  of 
being  oppressed  by  their  own  volition,  or  a  starving  man 
of  dying  wilfully.  For  my  part,  I  have  more  tears  for 
these  unhappy  people  than  plaudits  for  the  triumph  of  any 
man  who  finds  it  in  his  heart  to  make  this  accusation.  It 
were  easier  to  break  through  the  columns  of  Sherman 
than  through  the  black  and  Canaanitish  curse  which  rests 
upon  the  poor  in  the  South. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 
IN  THE  LAND  OF  OXEN. 

''NE  day,  early  in  March,  I  stopped  at  a  house  for 
a  drink  of  water.  The  woman  went  to  one  end 
of  the  piazza)  and  brought  an  ox-horn  full  of 
water  from  Louisiana,  which  I,  standing  in  the  other 
end,  drank  in  Texas. 

A  rise  in  the  price  had  set  the  great  staple  to  running, 
and  all  day  long  the  road  resounded  with  the  heavy  sluck 
— sluck — sluck  of  the  ponderous  wheels — the  big  exultant 
laugh  of  King  Cotton,  coming  to  "  his  own  again."  It  is 
a  picturesque  spectacle  of  Texas,  these  great  cotton-wains. 
Six  or  eight  oxen,  which  have  smelt  no  hay  all  winter, 
stagger  wearily  along,  sometimes  leaning  together  by  mu- 
tual consent  to  keep  from  falling.  The  scraggy  black- 
jacks by  the  roadside,  hideous  though  they  are,  are  in 
alliance  with  the  birds,  and  take  copious  toll  from  the  rag- 
ged ends  of  the  bales.  High  atop  is  perched  the  negro 
Jehu,  in  his  "  shadowed  livery,"  with  his  enormously 
long  whip,  which,  in  the  intervals  of  the  hymns,  he  twirls 
and  cracks  like  a  pistol. 

"  O,  Pse  a  marchin'  down — you  Darby !  what  a'  doin' 
thar  ?  I'll  bust  yer  head  if  you  don't  come  up  thar — O,  I'se 
a  marchin'  down  to  de  New  Jerusalem — blast  yer  picter, 
Darby  ! — to  de  New  Jerusalem — you  Brandy !  I'll  be 


COTTON-WAINS  AND  THEIR  DRIVERS.  109 

double  diddly  dog-on  my  skin,  ef  ever  I  see  sech  an  ox. 
"Whoa  come !  — de  New  Jerusalem,  my  happy,  happy 
home ;  O,  de  New  Jerusalem — well,  de  Lor'  bless  me,  ef 
dat  'ar  steer  aint  fell  down  dead  !" 

"When  belated  at  night,  I  would  run  a  continuous  gaunt- 
let of  their  camp-fires,  spangling  the  edges  of  the  woods, 
and  throwing  a  yellow  glare  around  the  circle  of  shaggy 
heads.  As  soon  as  the  oxen  are  halted  anywhere,  like  vet- 
eran volunteers,  they  drop  at  once,  to  the  order,  "In  place, 
rest,"  given  by  themselves.  All  along  the  main  roads 
great  horned  skulls  stare  mournfully  out  from  little  heaps 
of  bones — the  remnants  of  some  poor  old  Darby. 

You,  Mr.  Ox-driver,  with  your  Baptist  and  Methodist, 
and  Rock  and  Brandy,  why  don't  you  throw  that  sapling 
from  the  road,  instead  of  driving  over  it  fifty  times  a 
month,  with  a  great  pounding  jounce  ?  You  are  the  laziest 
man  I  ever  saw. 

The  Texans  have  the  repute  of  being  the  laziest  people 
in  the  United  States,  and  so  they  are,  with  the  exception 
of  the  freedmen.  One  day  I  took  the  trouble  to  count 
the  teamsters  riding  and  walking ;  Of  the  twenty-three 
white  teamsters  whom  I  passed,  all  but  eight  were  walk- 
ing ;  but,  of  the  seventeen  negroes,  all  but  two  were  riding 
on  the  cotton.  There  is  ethnology  for  you,  demonstrated 
on  the  ends  of  the  fingers. 

With  the  cotton  from  the  Red  River  and  Sabine  counties 
come  also  the  cattle  from  the  great  Trinity  prairies.  Fine 
bony  steers  they  are,  a  little  raw-made,  perhaps,  and  tall, 
and  walking  as  only  Texas  cattle  can,  faster  than  horses. 
When  they  come  to  a  river,  all  the  boys,  and  negroes,  and 
dogs  of  the  village  collect,  and  huddle  them  about  the 
scow,  and  then  commences  the  thumping,  the  thwacking, 
the  whooping,  the  prodding,  and  the  shoving.  Some  are 
thrust  into  the  boat,  which  moves  away ;  others  follow  it 


110  "THE  TRIBES  OF  JOSHUA." 

till  they  get  water  in  their  ears,  when  they  come  back, 
shaking  their  heads  in  disgust,  and  are  crowded  in  again 
by  the  vast  mass  surging  upon  them.  Those  in  the  boat 
look  back  and  low  in  much  distress ;  and  then  at  last  they 
all  tumble  in  together,  snorting  and  sighing  in  the  cold 
water,  and  swim  across,  or  foolishly  in  circles  till  many 
drown. 

The  Texans  display  a  startling  originality  of  imagina- 
tion, as  shown  in  their  nomenclatures.  They  live,  like  the 
old  Hungarian  King,  altogether  super  grammaticam. 
Witness  these  names  in  geography  : — Lick  Skillet,  Buck 
Snort,  Nip  and  Tuck,  Jimtown,  Rake  Pocket,  Hog  Eye, 
Fair  Play,  Seven  League,  Steal  Easy,  Possum  Trot,  Flat 
Heel,  Frog  Level,  Short  Pone,  Gourd  Neck,  Shake  Rag, 
Poverty  Slant,  Black  Ankle. 

The  cant  term  for  a  Texan  is  "  Chub."  I  know  no  ex- 
planation of  this,  unless  it  be  found  in  the  size  of  the 
Eastern  Texans.  It  is  related  of  the  Fifteenth  Texas  In- 
fantry, for  instance,  that  no  member  of  it  weighed  less 
than  one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds,  while  a  large  num- 
ber made  the  scale-beam  kick  at  two  hundred. 

"  Josh  "  is  the  cant  designation  for  a  citizen  of  Arkan- 
sas. According  to  the  Texans,  it  originated  in  a  jocular 
attempt  to  compare  Arkansas,  Texas,  and  part  of  Louisi- 
ana to  the  two  tribes  and  a  half  who  had  their  possessions 
beyond  the  Jordan,  but  went  over  with  Joshua  to  assist 
their  brethren.  Just  before  the  battle  of  Murfreesboro, 
the  Tennesseeans,  seeing  a  regiment  from  Arkansas  ap- 
proaching, cried  out,  a  little  confused  in  their  Biblical 
recollections,  "  Thar  come  the  tribes  of  Joshua !" 

The  fierce  military  spirit  of  the  South,  especially  of 
Texas,  is  shown  in  the  unutterable  scorn  and  contempt 
they  heaped  upon  the  shirks.  In  Texas  they  called  them, 
with  an  allusion  to  their  ante  ~bdlum  rhodoinontade  as  to 


PORTRAIT  OF  A  TEXAN.  HI 

what  we  could  do,  and  with  a  side-play  on  the  word  women 
(in  the  South  often  pronounced  weemen) — "we-men." 
With  a  reference  to  their  brag  that  "one  Southron  could 
whip  ten  Yankees,"  they  called  them  by  a  term  used  in 
billiards,  "  Ten-strikers."  A  man  can  utter  no  stronger 
approval  of  another's  opinion  than  by  saying  "  you're 
mighty  confederate." 

In  the  town  of  Henderson  I  made  the  temporary  ac- 
quaintance of  a  young  man  so  characteristically  Texan 
that  I  give  his  portrait.  He  was  slender  and  rather  "dish- 
faced,"  as  they  say  in  Texas,  with  long,  sandy  hair,  and  a 
feeble  goatee,  both  of  which  he  soaped  down  straight  and 
stiff.  He  was  a  dead  shot  with  a  revolver  at  fifty  paces ; 
had  a  convivial  reputation ;  was  said  to  cleave  to  his  friends  • 
and  looked  daggers  at  intellectual  people. 

At  the  tender  age  of  twenty-one  he  had  had  over  a  hun- 
dred personal  fights ;  shot  to  death  three  men,  and  wound- 
ed eight  more ;  was  then  under  five  bail-bonds  in  one 
county,  and  two  in  another  ;  had  gone  through  the  entire 
war ;  married ;  buried  an  infant  daughter ;  and  separated 
from  his  wife,  who  was  then  in  school.  Yet  he  was  a  man 
of  good  understanding,  and  was  fond  of  Byron.  So 
strangely  is  talent  sometimes  wedded  to  ferocity  and  indo- 
lence in  this  strange,  fierce  State. 

How  long,  how  long  must  I  struggle  to  get  out  of  these 
mourning  and  complaining  pines  ?  Where  is  the  fabulous 
fertility  of  the  South  ;  All  these  thousand  miles  have  I 
walked  in  these  dreary  pines,  the  sign  and  substance  of 
poverty,  save  now  and  then,  when  I  crossed  some  river 
valley,  whose  fatness  was  stolen  bodily  from  the  Great 
West. 

These  heavens  of  Texas  in  March  are  the  most  leaden  I 
ever  walked  beneath.  One  wanders  for  miles  along  a 
sandy  road,  among  the  leafless,  stunted  post-oaks  and  the 


A  TEXAS  NORTHER. 

blackjacks,  which  are  scraggy  enough  to  scratch  out  the 
eyes  of  the  very  wind.  The  sand  is  full  of  iron  filings, 
like  a  rubble  of  chopped  nails ;  and  wherever  there  is  clay, 
it  is  of  a  purplish-chocolate  color ;  and  frequently  you  can 
brush  away  the  iridescence  mantling  on  a  spring,  and 
drink  chalybeate  or  sulphur  waters,  thick  enough  to  be 
healthy.  Now  and  then  there  is  a  cleared  space,  faintly 
tinged  with  bleached  crab-grass ;  and  some  hungry  cows 
roam  about,  and  lap  their  long  rasping  tongues  around  the 
maize-stalks,  with  a  noise  that  sends  a  cold  shudder  down 
one's  backbone. 

But  not  while  I  live  shall  I  forget  that  first  norther  I 
ever  experienced. 

One  day  the  atmosphere  became  almost  as  sultry  as  in 
July,  and  the  next  day  it  became  oppressively  warm, 
though  the  sun  was  shorn  of  half  his  brilliance,  and  shone 
with  a  strange  and  portentous  gloom.  Not  a  breath  of  air 
was  abroad  in  all  the  woods.  About  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  the  sun  was  totally  obscured,  though  there 
were  no  clouds ;  and  the  gloom,  and  the  stillness  became 
deathlike. 

Presently  I  see  on  the  northern  horizon  a  narrow  rim 
of  cloud,  perfectly  straight  on  its  edge,  and  stretching  far 
across  the  heaven.  It  surges  upward  with  appalling  black- 
ness and  swiftness,  but  never  ruffles  that  even  margin. 
The  forest  grows  dark.  The  cattle  hasten  into  the  ravines 
and  stand  with  their  heads  averted  from  its  coming.  Still 
that  dread  and  sultry  silence.  Still  there  is  not  the  slight- 
est whisper  in  the  leaves.  At  last  they  quiver  a  little,  fit- 
fully, and  then  are  still  again.  Now  I  hear  a  faint  dis- 
tant sighing,  and  the  blast  comes  on  with  a  stately  tread, 
and  the  sighing  deepens  rapidly  into  a  hoarse  and  hollow 
moan,  which  has  in  it  more  of  a  ghostly  and  chilling  ter- 
ror than  any  other  sound  in  nature.  It  rushes  on,  not  in 


A  TEXAX  IX  LOVE.  113 

fitful  gusts,  but  with  the  solid  and  majestic  tread  of  an 
army,  and  strengthens  itself  mightily  in  its  outrageous 
fierceness.  Every  particle  of  warmth  is  chased  away  by 
bitter  cold;  all  the  earth  is  darkened;  the  woods  howl 
and  roar  together ; 

"  While  trees,  dim-seen,  in  frenzied  numbers,  tear 
The  lingering  remnants  of  their  yellow  hair." 

This  fearful  blast  lasted  all  that  night  and  the  next  day 
in  an  unbroken  hurricane,  which  seemed  as  if  it  would 
blow  the  very  moon  'out  of  the  concave.  Ice  was  formed 
in  vessels  six  inches  thick. 

After  this  experience  I  understood  why  all  trees  in 
Texas  grow  so  short  and  stout ;  and  why  the  people  are  so 
extremely  sensitive  to  changes  of  weather,  and  so  irritable 
in  their  tempers. 

From  Henderson  I  went  over  to  Tyler,  and  then  wan- 
dered widely  around,  wherever  I  heard  it  was,  in -quest  of 
a  certain  emigrant  company  about  to  start  for  California. 
But  I  could  never  find  it. 

Waiting  for  a  creek  to  fall,  I  staid  several  days  with  a 
strapping  big  Texan,  of  twenty  years,  and  two  hundred 
pounds  avoirdupois,  but  with  no  beard,  who  was  greatly  in 
love,  not  with  any  damsel  in  particular,  as  I  found  out,  but 
with  the  sex  in  general.  His  wide  mouth  was  always  ajar, 
and  his  vast  loamy  countenance  always  radiant  with  a 
smile,  like  sunshine  on  the  side  of  a  barn.  He  would  cut 
brushwood  in  the  field  an  hour  or  two,  then  come  and  sit 
by  me,  where  I  was  writing.  After  twisting  about  in  his 
chair  a  while,  with  the  elephantine  grin  on  his  face,  he 
would  say : — 

"  "Well,  it  kinder  seems  like  'twas  every  feller's  duty  to 
get  mahried." 

"  Yes,  I  think  every  man  in  the  South  should  marry, 
now  since  the  war  has  destroyed  so  many." 


114:  .  THE  LAST  COTTON-FIELD. 

Then  I  would  become  intent  on  my  writing,  and  lie 
would  go  and  bring  a  bucket  of  water  for  his  sister.  Then 
he  would  return,  and  sit  there,  and  lean  on  his  elbows  far 
over  toward  me,  and  grin. 

"If  a  feller  could  only  git  'round  the  gals.  They're  so 
all-fired  cute  and  sassy  like,  you  can't  tech  'em." 

"  You  don't  get  on  well  with  them  then  ?" 

"  'Pears  like  the  gals  are  kinder  skeery  of  me.  The 
other  fellers,  'pears  like  they  liked  'em  well  enough ;  but 
when  I  go  to  devilin'  'em,  or  ticklin'  'em  in  the  ribs,  they 
flops  about  so  I  can't  git  nigh  'em  agin." 

From  Tyler  I  went  back  to  Marshall,  passing  the  famous 
stockade  near  the  former  town,  wherein  so  many  Union 
prisoners  died.  The  cemetery  is  just  across  the  road,  on 
a  gentle  sandy  slope  ;  and  though  it  was  more  than  three 
years  after  the  burials,  it  emitted  a  dreadful  odor.  The 
whole  vicinity  seemed  accursed  of  the  Almighty.  The 
widow  who  owned  the  land  of  which  it  was  a  part  was 
obliged  to  sell  it  for  a  mere  song,  and  remove  her  family. 
The  bravest  man  in  Tyler  dreaded  to  pass  it  after  night- 
fall, and  many  persons  would  make  a  wide  circuit.  There 
were  horrible  stories  of  ghosts  that  had  been  seen,  and  of 
spectral  horsemen.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  a  thickly  settled 
region,  yet  the  nearest  occupied  house  on  the  road  was 
three  miles  away. 

From  Marshall  I  turned  west  a  second  time,  crossed  the 
Sabine  the  third  time,  and  bore  away  straight  to  the  west 
for  Waxahatchie.  Out  of  the  pines  at  last  forever,  for 
which  I  was  thankful ;  over  the  mighty  ridges  of  sand ; 
then  came  the  last  cotton-field. 

Rapidly  the  hills  melt  away  toward  the  prairies,  and  the 
great  post-oaks  squat  low,  and  bow  their  heads  toward  the 
east,  for  they  have  fought  their  hard  way  up  through  many 
a  century  of  wind  and  rain.  ~Now  there  comes  up  far 


J3AIL  TO  THE  PRAIRIES !  115 

through  the  woods  the  drowsy  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell,  or  the 
lordly  bellow  of  the  bull,  where,  potent  among  herds  in 
the  unyoked  glory  of  his  neck,  he  writes  his  savage  laws 
upon  the  ground.  Now  there  skims  before  me  a  sylvan, 
airy  herd  of  deer,  the  Graces  of  the  woods.  They  pause 
a  little  way  off  to  look  at  me,  with  their  curious  innocent 
stare,  and  holding  their  heads  and  tails  straight  up  in 
dainty  scorn.  Now  they  are  off  again,  and  those  pretty 
cotton-tails  teeter  away  like  the  wind,  so  light,  so  long,  so 
leisurely  are  their  limber  leaps. 

Then  came  the  prairie,  the  great  green  floor  of  the 
world ;  and  after  famishing  for  months  on  the  poor  tallow 
candles  of  the  piney-woods,  how  my  eyes  gloated  on  this 
regal  plenty  of  sunshine.  Ah !  this,  this  is  breath. 

The  first  man  I  met  on  the  prairie  wore  a  yellow  beard, 
and  a  face  that  was  a  good  wind-splitter,  and  rode  a — nim- 
ium  ne  crede  calori — "claybank"  horse.  The  animal 
was  as  gaunt  as  a  Canada  pad  that  has  been  about  a  month 
in  the  Horse  Latitudes,  and  so  sway-backed  that  the 
rider's  feet  almost  dragged  on  the  prairie.  Nevertheless, 
it  held  up  its  head  like  a  banner,  and  so  high  that  a  line 
drawn  from  the  top  of  it,  across  the  rider's  head,  would 
have  touched  the  top  of  its  little  stump  of  a  tail,  which 
stuck  up  like  an  ear  of  maize. 

"  Stranger,"  said  he,  reining  up  and  taking  a  portent- 
ous chew  of  tobacco,  "  p'raps  you  mout  'a  seen  a  red  mul- 
ley  cow  somewhar,  with  a  cross  and  a  underbit  in  the  right, 
and  a  marked  cross  and  a  swallow-fork  in  the  left." 

"  I  don't  remember  any  such  animal ." 

"  "Well,  did  you  see  a  brown-and-white  pied  ox,  with  a 
overslope  and  a  slit  in  the  right ;  or  a  black-and-white- 
paint  hoss  ;  or  a  gray  mare,  a  little  flea-bitten,  with  a  blazed 
face,  and  a  docked  tail  ?" 

I  was  obliged  to  say  I  had  not,  and  he  rode  away. 


116  NORWEGIAN  VILLAGE— TRINITY  FOREST. 

In  the  Norwegian  village  of  Prairieville  I  saw  a  singu- 
lar illustration  of  the  truth  that  Northern  peoples  are  gov- 
erned more  by  reason  and  less  by  passion  than  Southern 
peoples.  They  were  hoeing  with  negroes  in  the  field,  and 
even — horrible  to  relate ! — sat  side  by  side  with  them  at 
table.  Negroes  who  have  lived  a  while  with  the  Norwe- 
gians get  such  lofty  notions  that  the  Americans  refuse  to 
employ  them.  Now  Germans,  at  least  Bavarians,  frighten 
their  children  by  saying  Mohr  to  them  ;  and  the  Germans 
of  Western  Texas  treat  them  very  much  in  the  Ameri- 
can manner. 

As  you  approach  the  Trinity,  being  somewhat  above  it, 
you  can  trace  it  and  all  its  branches,  like  a  vast  tree  flung 
down,  by  the  gray  threads  of  forest  which  wander  far 
through  the  green  prairie.  But  the  valley — O  moon,  and 
ye  stars,  look  ye  on  earth  upon  its  fellow  ?  In  all  that  jet- 
black  mile  there  was  not  a  bush  nor  a  leaf;  nothing  but  a 
colonnade  of  black-washed  trees.  As  ^Eschylus  fancifully 
says  the  ^Egean  blossomed  with  the  broken  spars  and 
corpses  of  the  shipwreck,  so  did  this  whole  mile  vegetate 
with  skids  and  pieces  of  corduroy. 

But  the  Trinity  forest  is  sadly  memorable  in  Texan  an- 
nals as  the  refuge  of  fleeing  Unionists.  Here  the  bear 
was  often  startled  in  his  dreary  lair  by  strange  bed-fellows ; 
and  his  savage  dreams  were  scared  by  the  bloodier  doings 
of  man,  by  the  appalling  yell,  the  clutching,  the  groan,  the 
gurgle,  that  echoed  here  in  those  evil  and  memorable 
years  of  the  rebellion. 

It  was  not  far  from  here,  in  Yan  Zandt  county  I  think, 
that  they  showed  me  a  place  where  forty  Unionists  were 
hanged  on  the  trees  in  one  day,  all  within  sight  of  each 
other. 

.    From  the  Trinity  to  "Waxahatchie,  all  one  Ipng  sunny 
day,  the  dim-seen  trail  cleaved  before  me,  like  the  flight 


TRINITY  RIVER— WAXAHATCHIE.  H7 

of  an  arrow,  the  burned  prairie  from  the  unburned.  On 
the  burned  side  it  was  all  spring  now  with  tender  grass, 
speckled  over  with  the  nibbling  myriads ;  but  on  the  un- 
burned side  still  lay  the  tawny,  shaggy  winter,  nickering 
with  a  vivid  heat. 

All  that  long  day  there  was  not  a  sound  abroad  on  the 
great  prairie,  save  the  booming  of  the  prairie-cock.  This 
conceited  fowl  ruffles  his  pretty  yellow-speckled  neck, 
stretches  it  out  close  along  the  ground,  hoists  his  ridicu- 
lously little  fan,  which,  seen  from  the  side,  sticks  up  like  a 
railroad  spike,  and  utters  his  love-lorn  jeremiad.  It  is 
louder  and  more  mournful  than  the  cooing  of  the  tame 
pigeon,  and  has  a  regular  rising  and  falling  accent. 

In  Waxahatchie  I  waited  many  weeks  for  the  departure 
of  the  train. 

Although  the  Trinity  lies  twenty  miles  within  the  prai- 
rie, on  its  bank  you  cross  a  thin  stratum  of  red  clay ; 
whence  it  may  be  taken  as  the  line  between  the  red-clay 
or  cotton  belt,  and  the  limestone  prairie  or  wheat  belt. 
Among  the  wooded  hills  of  this  red-clay  belt  you  find  lit- 
tle of  the  Texas  of  tradition,  the  Texas  of  Rangers  and 
Mustangs,  the  land  which  has  spilled  so  much  blood  for 
the  gusto  picaresco  literature  of  the  million.  Just  as  in 
Georgia,  they  never  dig  a  cellar,  never  teach  their  chil- 
dren to  shut  the  door,  build  the  chimney  outside,  add  a 
breezy  "  piazza 7>  to  a  cabin,  however  small  it  may  be, 
generally  omit  the  partitive  some,  seldom  use  the  article 
an,  and  say  "  tole,"  "  I  reckon,"  "  holp,"  etc. 

"  Who  drives  fat  oxen  should  himself  be  fat."  The 
Texans  drive  anything  but  fat  oxen,  and  those  who  live  on 
the  prairies  are  anything  but  fat ;  but  the  foresters  are  by 
no  means  small,  though  not  quite  so  gigantic  in  stature 
as  the  men  of  Arkansas.  They  have  a  singular  bluish- 
sallow  complexion,  like  a  man  half  frozen. 


118  TEXAN  RANGERS  AND  OX-DRIVERS. 

"We  are  accustomed  to  think  of  the  Texan  less  as  the 
ox-driver  than  as  the  ranger,  the  fierce,  the  wily,  the  wild, 
mounted  on  a  fleet  mustang.  But  ox-driving  Eastern 
Texas  furnished  to  the  Confederacy  several  infantry  regi- 
ments who  were  worth  more  than  all  the  mustang  cavalry 
together.  In  the  flight  of  Bragg  from  Kentucky  a  brigade 
of  four  Texas  regiments  left  behind  only  about  a  score  of 
its  soldiers  ;  while  a  regiment  from  Arkansas,  whose  gaunt 
but  bony  sons  are  considered  the  most  robust  men  of  the 
South,  left  half  its  members  by  the  roadside.  Walker's 
famous  division  once  marched  thirty  miles  a  day  for  five 
consecutive  days,  and  left  only  six  behind,  and  by  this  and 
other  feats  earned  from  the  Union  troops  the  compliment- 
ary equi vogue  of  "  Greyhounds." 

"Where  did  they  acquire  these  extraordinary  powers  ^of 
endurance,  if  not  in  their  manifold  journeyings  beside 
their  oxen  ?  On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  the  slow  motions 
of  their  oxen  have  had  a  hand  in  making  them  the  laziest 
of  all  Americans. 

Texas,  like  Italy,  is  a  land  of  oxen  and  cows,  but  the 
Texan  cannot  say,  with  Italian  Cory  don,  "  Lao  mihi  non 
cestate  novum,  nonfrigore  defit"  A  Texan  once  told  me 
that  his  ideal  of  earthly  happiness  was  to  plough  corn  and 
drink  buttermilk;  but  they  have  less  of  this  supreme  nour- 
ishment of  genius  than  any  other  Southern  State.  A 
man  with  one  cow  drinks  some  milk,  he  with  a  hundred 
drinks  none. 

Despite  the  mercurial  temperament  of  individuals,  Tex- 
as is  the  most  bovine  of  all  civilized  communities.  Far 
out  around  the  threshing-floor  of  Time  these  "  ox-born 
souls  "  creep  their  round  beneath  the  yoke  of  the  Union, 
treading  out  the  slow  wheat  of  civilization,  and  eating  un- 
muzzled, the  chaff  of  many  ordinances.  "  So  many  laws 
argues  so  many  sins." 


A  PERPETUAL  ENIGMA. 


119 


The  people  of  Texas,  like  its  weather,  are  a  perpetual 
enigma,  a  tissue  of  contradictions.  They  have  the  most 
ponderous  and  complicated  machinery  for  law-making  of 
all  our  States,  and  they  break  more  laws  than  any  other. 

In  the  war,  Texas  was  the  most  backward  of  all  the 
Southern  States,  but  when  the  others  laid  down  their  arms, 
then  the  Texans  wanted  to  fight. 

I  once  knew  a  man  who  rode  all  night  in  a  dreadful 
tempest  of  wind,  and  rain,  and  lightening,  swimming  over 
raging  creeks  at  the  imminent  peril  of  his  life,  merely  to 
"  stand  by  a  friend  in  a  fight ;"  yet  he  did  not  scruple  to 
defraud  a  white  man  of  his  six  months'  wages.  The  Tex- 
ans do  everything  for  honor,  but  nothing  for  justice. 

Even  in  their  code  of  morals  they  contradict  all  the  rest 
of  mankind.  That  code  consists  of  two  sayings.  The 
first  is,  "  Revolvers  make  all  men  equal."  The  second  is 
the  famous  utterance  of  Houston,  "  If  a  man  can't  curse 
his  friends,  whom  can  he  cursed" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OVER  THE  ROLLING  PRAIRIES. 

r 

ANY  distinguished  authors,  from  Alcibiades  to 
Burns,  have  owned  dogs,  and  thought  it  not  be- 
neath them  to  teach  them  sound  wisdom.  En- 
couraged by  their  example,  I  have  composed  the  following 
Catechism  for  Texan  pups,  which,  in  consideration  of  the 
many  attachments  they  conceived  for  me,  I  humbly  inscribe 
to  Bouncer's  eye-teeth. 

Q.     Why  are  many  dogs  in  Texas  naked? 

A.  Because  they  have  the  ague  so  often  they  shake  off 
all  their  hair. 

Q.  Why  is  the  grass  all  worn  off  the  roadside  in 
Texas  ? 

A.  Because,  like  "His  Highness'  dog  at  Kew,"  no 
dog  ever  meets  another  without  sitting  down  beside  the 
road  to  talk. 

Q.  Why  does  every  high-toned  dog,  when  he  meets  a 
neighbor,  always  wag  his  tail  around  in  a  circle? 

A.  If  he  wagged  it  straight  backward  and  forward, 
the  other  might  feel  himself  insulted,  and  a  dreadful  and 
bloody  quarrel  ensue. 

Q.  Why  does  every  high-toned  dog,  when  he  meets 
another,  never  hold  his  tail  slanting? 

A.  By  holding  it  perpendicular,  he  plainly  indicates 
that  he  considers  himself  the  equal  of  any  dog  that 
breathes,  and  will  not  "  take  anything  from  any  dog." 

Q.    Where  do  all  wicked  dogs  go,  when  they  die? 


STARTING  FOR  CALIFORNIA.  121 

A.     They  stay  in  Texas. 

Q.     Does  a  good  dog  ever  die? 

A.  He  does  not.  The  wind  dries  hfcn  up,  and  blows 
him  into  Mexico,  where  all  good  dogs  go. 

Q.  What  auspicious  event  does  every  prudent  dog 
await,  before  he  sets  out  on  a  journey? 

A.     He  waits  for  the  grass  to  grow. 

If  a  dog  cannot  set  out  before  the  grass  grows,  much 
less  can  oxen.  But  the  grass  did  grow- — an  inch  high,  two 
inches,  three,  four — and  the  cattle  on  a  million  acres  put 
on  their  shining  vernal  calico,  and  still  some  emigrant  had 
a  pipe  to  purchase. 

At  last,  in  the  first  week  of  May,  all  were  ready. 
"  Starting  for  California."  Ah  !  how  the  heart  of  the  im- 
aginative leaps  at  the  mention  of  that  magic  name !  It  was 
a  great  day  for  Waxahatchie,  was  that  day.  First  came 
the  white-covered  wagons,  then  the  wild  rush  and  clatter 
along  the  hard,  black  streets  of  the  village,  for  hours  to- 
gether, of  untamed  cattle,  and  shouting  galloping  herds- 
men— sweeping  away,  like  an  avalanche,  now  a  hitched 
horse,  now  a  lumbering  wagon  with  its  oxen.  The  inhab- 
itants looked  down  from  their  windows  till  they  were 
weary,  went  away,  and  came  again  to  look  ;  and  still  that 
glistening  river  of  horns  surged  on  beneath  them.  The 
little  village  had  seldom  seen  a  mightier  or  an  unrulier 
pageant.  Beef,  beef,  beef  everywhere,  and  only  bacon  for 
dinner. 

As  one  approaches  the  creeks  which  run  through  these 
prairies,  one  first  sees  far  off  the  dark-green  thread  of 
trees  rising  in  a  slice,  as  through  a  slit  in  the  pale-green 
sward.  Just  on  the  edge  of  these  ravines  crop  out  strata 
of  limestone,  the  floor  of  the  prairies,  which  old  Ocean 
laid,  and  well  laid,  in  those  ancient  times  when  Proteus 
led  forth,  here  his  finny  flocks  to  pastures  of  l>rine. 
6 


122  OUR  OUTFIT. 

Here  and  there  are  curious  level  reaches  of  indented 
prairie,  which  the  swinish  imagination  of  the  Texan,  al- 
ways on  the  lookout  for  a  chine  of  bacon,  calls  "  hog-wal- 
low." Professor  Riddel's  theory,  founded  on  the  ancient 
Mexican  tradition,  that  they  were  made  by  a  terrible 
drought,  is  not  satisfactory,  for  all  the  depressions  are  cir- 
cular. They  may  have  been  made  by  the  tramping  and 
wallowing  of  the  buffalo,  for  each  hole  is  about  large 
enough  for  one  of  those  huge  animals. 

At  night  the  herds  are  impounded  in  some  settler's  pen, 
the  tent  is  pitched  beside  a  brook,  under  a  spreading  hack- 
berry,  and  our  coffee-pot  is  set  with  its  shining  new  cheeks 
to  the  fire.  The  happled  oxen  go  waltzing  off  with  infi- 
nitesimal steps,  but  the  horses  impatiently  rear  up  and 
jump  with  the  fore  feet,  then  kick  up  and  jump  with  the 
hind  feet,  as  if  they  were  trying  a  bear-dance  or  an  equine 
minuet. 

The  outfit  of  our  mess  was  Spartan  in  its  simplicity, 
and  wisely  so ;  therefore  we  squatted  on  the  grass  around 
the  biscuits  and  the  rashers  of  "Old  Ned."  Strange  men, 
just  setting  out  on  a  long  journey,  notice  each  other  sharp- 
ly. That  tall  young  man  uses  his  own  jack-knife,  carefully 
wipes  it,  and  puts  it  into  his  pocket.  He  must  be  a  Yankee. 
No,  he  was  "born  and  raised  in  old  Tennessee." 

This  pale  sickly  man  has  a  camp-knife,  combining  fork, 
spoon,  etc.  Surely  he  is  a  Yankee.  No,  an  Alabamian. 
B.ut  then  he  never  displays  that  camp-knife  again,  to  be 
sure.  It  is  like  the  boy's  tin  watch,  whose  hands  always 
stay  in  the  same  place ;  thereafter  its  blades  and  spoons  are 
never  opened.  It  is  quite  too  handy. 

Seeing  me  rake  together  leaves  on  which  to  spread  my 
blankets,  one  said  : — 

"  Well,  you  certainly  are  a  Yankee.  "When  we  were 
campaigning  in  Tennessee,  we  sometimes  captured  the 


BILL  SXODGRASS.  123 

Yankee  camps,  and  always  found  them  so  comfortable,  with 
beds  of  leaves,  or  beds  built  up  on  crotches,  whilst  our 
boys  slept  plumb  on  the  ground." 

Then  we  rolled  ourselves  in  our  blankets,  and  stretched 
our  feet  toward  the  fire,  but  the  negro  cook  put  his  head 
close  to  the  embers.  We  were  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  mu- 
sic of  the  bull-bat  and  the  chuck-wills-widow,  such  as  it 
was,  the  best  they  could  furnish. 

Near  Alvarado  there  are  some  prairies  which  it  is  not 
trite  to  liken  to  the  waves  of  ocean.  They  are  not  like 
waves  which  roll  over  any  earthly  ocean  ;  but  such  as  we 
may  imagine  surge  against  the  ancient  continents  of  Jupi- 
ter— a  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  at  the  base  half  a  mile 
in  width.  Across  these  undulations  the  cattle  were  tramp- 
ing on,  like  myriads  of  speckled  poppies,  one  herd  some- 
times stretching  out  a  mile  from  the  road  toward  the  right, 
another,  perhaps,  as  far  to  the  left.  It  was  an  imposing 
panorama.  Ah!  who  would  square  the  circle  of  this 
great,  green  world  upon  the  noisome  walls  of  a  city  ! 

The  magnificent  roll  of  the  prairie  is  broken  abruptly 
off  against  the  woody  run  of  the  Cross  Timbers ;  but  the 
prairie  often  asserts  itself  in  the  midst  of  the  belt,  now  in 
a  grassy  patch  flung  down,  and  now  in  a  sunny  glade, 
where  the  eye  sweeps  through  a  long  vista  cleft  in  the  for- 
est. Let  the  imagination  go  back  with  Agassiz,  in  his 
Icarian  flights  into  the  Past,  and  it  beholds  here  an  ocean 
of  quiet  waters,  and  this  strip  of  woodland  cleaving  them 
through  the  midst,  and  covered  perhaps  with  the  progeni- 
tors of  the  oaks  it  bears  to-day. 

But  the  ichthyosaurians  have  long  since  made  room  for 
Bill  Snodgrass.  His  log-cabin  stands  inside  of  the  rail- 
fence  circle,  and  in  the  dreary  yard  there  is  not  a  bush, 
absolutely  nothing  else  but  the  pyramidal  ash-hopper  stand- 
ing on  its  head.  In  the  door  sits  his  sallow  wife,  barefoot 


124:  VALLEY  OF  THE  BRAZOS. 

and  with  disheveled  hair,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and 
her  chin  elevated  across  her  hands  ;  while  a  group  of  wea- 
zle-faced  children,  and  a  monstrous  brindled  dog  squat 
about.  Bill  lies  on  the  bed,  under  a  mountain  of  clothes ; 
and  a  neighbor  sits  smoking  and  feeling  his  pulse. 

"ChilhV  it  much  now,  Bill?" 

"  You're  mighty  right — rattle  of  teeth — I — rattle,  shiver 
— a-a-a — heavy  rattle  and  shiver — I  am — long  rattle — I 
am,  Bacon." 

In  the  field  there  is  some  pale  phantom  corn  among 
the  stumps,  with  childish  generosity  sharing  the  ground 
with  the  sumac.  A  horse  is  in  there  serenely  eating  it, 
and  he  runs  frantically  to  see  our  horses.  The  Texan 
horses  learn  sociableness  from  their  masters.  While  I  was 
in  Waxahatchie  waiting,  I  rode  several  educated  nags,  and 
never  one  did  I  ride  but  would  stop  whenever  it  passed 
another  horse  or  horseman. 

In  the  great  valley  of  the  Brazos,  which  seems  to  be 
merely  a  depressed  prairie,  it  is  so  vast,  occur  the  first  of 
those  wonderful  pyramidal  knolls  of  Western  Texas. 
Some  are  simply  truncated  pyramids,  others  are  like  great 
earth-forts,  others  terraced  almost  as  regularly  as  the  an- 
cient pyramid  of  Cholula. 

In  half  the  villages  of  Texas  one  asks  one's  self,  why 
was  this  village  set  precisely  here,  I  wonder  ?  In  Western 
Texas  I  found  out  the  secret  of  their  genesis. 

Homulus  and  Remus  noted  the  flight  of  eagles  for  the 
site  of  the  Eternal  City,  but  the  Texans  watch  the  horses. 
In  a  place  where  they  most  do  congregate,  they  make  a 
"  horse-rack."  Around  this  they  lay  out  a  public  square 
for  a  hitching-ground,  and  surround  this  with  little  grocer- 
ies, having  square  gables  and  awnings.  The  horse-racks 
presently  become  a  city  directory.  Where  there  is  a 
hewn  one  with  nice  strong  pegs  there  is  a  keen  trader, 


VIEW  NEAR  THE  PALOXY.  125 

who  walks  briskly  behind  his  counter,  and  has  good  wares ; 
where  one  end  is  fallen  down,  there  is  a  genuine  Texan 
who  will  not  walk  the  length  of  his  counter  to  serve  you ; 
where  there  is  none  at  all,  beware  of  him,  his  butter  is 
rancid,  and  his  thread  is  rotten. 

On  rainy  days  these  groceries  are  full  of  long-haired 
men  with,  suits  of  sheep's-gray,  so  cut  from  the  web 
that  the  gray  looks  right  across  the  seam  to  the  brindle. 
They  stalk  up  and  down,  to  tinkle  their  great  bell-spurs, 
and  toss  down  their  "  spizerinctums  "  with  lofty  contempt, 
to  see  them  stagger  and  spin  around  on  the  counter. 

We  will  take  the  glass,  and  climb  one  of  these  terraced 
knolls  by  the  Paloxy.  From  the  summit  the  eye  ranges 
over  a  maze  of  whitish  limestone  hills  and  ridges,  meager- 
ly  grassy,  and  dapple  with  darker  shrubbery.  See  that 
pair  of  black  wolves,  leisurely  galloping  down  yonder 
ravine!  They  often  look  back  over  their  shoulders. 
Doubtless  many  a  calf  lies  heavy  on  their  consciences. 
Now  they  walk  slowly  up  the  hill  toward  a  group  of  cat- 
tle, and  prowl  about,  wistfully  stretching  out  their  necks, 
and  snuffling.  The  calves  run  with  flying  tails  into  the 
herd,  and  the  cows  advance  with  heads  uplifted  and  snort- 
ing, and  the  marauders  trot  away. 

Away  yonder  on  that  hillside  there  seems  to  be  a  mon- 
strous black  tarantula,  fumbling  about  in  the  grass,  as  his 
wont  is,  to  get  a  foothold  for  a  spring.  But  look  with  the 
glass.  Ah  !  it  is  only  a  herd,  and  the  fumbling  legs  are 
the  herdsmen,  circling  continually  around. 

There  is  not  a  sound  to  disturb  this  nightly  solitude, 
except  the  bawling  ot  some  calves,  depulsi  a  lacte,  on  yon- 
der rancho.  We  will  visit  this  rancho  for  our  last  drink  of 
buttermilk.  The  house  cowers  from  the  buzzard  ken  of 
the  Camanche  beneath  the  spreading  live-oaks,  and  the 
fence,  Indian-like,  skulks  hither  and  thither.  Hard  by  is 


126  AN  OLD  HERMIT. 

the  cow-pen,  and  at  the  end  of  it  the  narrow  passage, 
through  which  in  spring  the  yearlings  are  crowded,  one 
by  one,  while  the  branding-iron  is  clapped  fizzling  upon 
their  backs.  Eawhide  is  pegged  to  the  ground  to  dry, 
rawhide  is  stretched  across  the  yard  to  be  oiled,  rawhide  is 
nailed  to  the  house  to  grow  limber.  Eawhide  laces  the 
shoes,  bottoms  the  chairs,  makes  the  bedstead,  is  glue, 
nails,  pegs,  mortices.  In  the  morning  one  vaults  into  his 
rawhide  saddle,  takes  his  rawhide  lariat  and  cow-whip,  and 
rides  out  with  the  herd,  the  source  of  all  rawhide.  The 
others  plough  a  little  in  the  corn,  then  sit  on  the  cow-pen, 
where  one  boy  holds  a  frantic  calf  by  the  tail,  while 
another  practices  on  it  with  the  lasso. 

But  these  men  are  not  wholly  given  over  to  the  worship 
of  the  drowsy  gods.  Do  you  observe  that  scraggy  pole, 
with  gourds  for  the  martins  hung  on  its  shoulders  ?  There 
is  hope  of  him  who  has  a  birds-nest  in  his  soul. 

One  day  we  saw  an  old  hermit,  who  had  lived  so  long 
in  these  solitudes ,  yelling  at  his  cattle,  that  he  spoke  in 
tones  of  thunder.  His  voice  could  be  heard  half  a  mile 
in  ordinary  conversation.  He  was  of  a  gigantic  stature, 
bareheaded  and  barefooted,  and  with  no  outer  garment, 
save  a  pair  of  buckskin  breeches,  with  knit  woolen  suspen- 
ders. In  the  night  his  cattle  took  fright,  and  were  likely 
to  break  the  pen,  when  he  ran  out  in  his  shirt,  in  a  tower- 
ing passion  and  roaring  like  a  lion,  leaped  into  the  pen, 
and  emptied  both  his  revolvers  into  them  promiscuously. 
This  quieted  them  effectually. 

About  nine  o'clock  one  night  we  were  awakened  by  a 
heavy  rumbling,  like  that  of  an  earthquake.  We  all  leap 
to  our  feet,  and  hear  the  terrible  cry,  "  A  stampede !  a 
stampede !"  They  are  coming  toward  us !  O,  if  that  mighty 
herd,  rushing  frenzied  with  terror  through  the  darkness, 
should  pass  over  our  little  camp !  Women  and  children 


A  STAMPEDE.  127 

run  screaming  and  crying,  they  know  not  whither ;  men 
swing  flaming  fire-brands  in  the  air;  the  herds-men  around 
the  quiet  herds,  to  drown  the  noise,  set  up  a  whooping  and 
singing. 

But  the  frightened  cattle  are  stopped  by  the  fire-brands, 
just  before  they  reach  the  cordon  of  wagons. 

We  lay  down  to  sleep  again,  and  Dave  told  us  a  fright- 
ful story  of  a  Mexican  whom  he  had  seen  trampled  into 
fragments  in  a  stampede.  Scarcely  had  he  ceased  when 
the  solid  earth  trembled  again  like  a  leaf,  and  we  rushed 
forth  in  terror.  Again  and  again  did  the  frightened  herd 
surge  against  the  men,  and  after  midnight  they  broke 
away  and  ran  thirty  miles  without  stopping.  "When  a 
herd  of  Texan  cattle  get  well  in  motion,  the  herdsmen 
make  no  more  resistance,  but  gallop  along  with  them  till 
they  are  exhausted. 

On  the  open  prairie  we  experienced  one  of  those  awful 
storms  which  make  Western  Texas  dreaded.  It  was  to- 
ward evening,  when  the  great  slate-colored  clouds  began 
to  be  heaped  up  on  the  prairie,  bulging  up  in  portentous 
grandeur  above  the  green  world.  When  the  heavens  were 
all  covered  they  seemed  to  settle,  as  if  about  to  plunge  in 
headlong  ruin  upon  the  prairie.  The  clouds  far  off  beat 
the  long  roll  of  battle,  and  some  were  already  spilling 
their  thin  lightenings  over  the  horizon.  But  they  flamed 
up  in  an  incredibly  short  time  half-way  to  the  zenith, 
whence  they  shook  down  their  fiery  javelins  across  a 
quarter  of  the  heaven. 

The  brazen  belt  which  betokened  hail,  widened  itself 
upward  with  amazing  rapidity,  as  if  the  storm-god  were 
running  to  battle  with  a  thousand  chariots  of  brass.  The 
cool  breath  of  the  hail  now  rippled  gently  through  the 
sultry  calm. 

Then  came  the  fierce  rush  and  sighing  of  the  wind, 


128  AX  AWFUL  STORM. 

slinging  hailstones  and  scattered  drops  of  rain.  Many  of 
the  stones  were  as  large  as  a  strong  man's  fist,  and,  slung 
from  the  far  heights  of  heaven,  smote  upon  the  solid 
ground  with  fearful  violence,  sometimes  bounding  fifteen 
feet  into  the  air.  The  first  blast  of  wind  swept  down  the 
tent.  In  attempting  to  raise  it,  a  herdsman  was  struck  by 
an  enormous  stone,  which  pierced  through  his  hat,  and 
felled  him  like  an  ox  upon  the  ground.  The  cattle  moved 
off  at  first  in  a  solid  column,  then  broke  into  a  tumultu- 
ous gallop  ;  the  loose  horses  cruelly  mauled  and  bleeding, 
fled  in  terror,  and  vanished  beyond  that  white  and  terrible 
curtain  stretching  from  heaven  down  to  earth. 

There  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the  storm,  then  came 
the  rain.  "We  had  lifted  the  tent-pole,  and  with  all  our 
united  strength  we  braced  it  up  against  the  mighty  torrent, 
while  the  slackened  tent  clung  about  us  almost  to  suffoca- 
tion. In  oceans  upon  oceans  it  surged  and  seethed,  and 
swashed  around  us,  as  if  it  would  drown  the  very  wind 
itself.  It  ran  along  on  the  prairie  in  a  flood,  hurled  by 
the  mad  wind  ;  it  deadened  even  the  crash  of  the  thunder 
into  a  dull  wet  thud,  so  that  we  heeded  it  not,  except 
when  one  bolt,  with  an  appalling  flash,  spread  the  prairie 
close  before  us. 

Then  the  rain  ceased  as  sudden  as  it  began,  but  the  wind 
still  swept  along  in  fitful  gusts.  We  crawled  from  the 
dismal  wreck  of  our  tent,  only  to  see  to  our  dismay  that 
the  rain-cloud  was  coming  back.  For  a  moment  the  wind 
surged  on  against  the  hot  and  ragged  rims  of  the  lighten- 
ing, rolling  blackly  up  and  hurling  back  the  edge  of  the 
clouds,  as  if  to  stay  their  return.  Its  struggles  grew  rap- 
idly weaker,  then  it  fell  dead  calm,  then  it  turned,  and 
that  black  cloud,  like  some  monstrous  kraken  balked  of  its 
prey,  came  rushing  to  a  second  assault. 

Thus  we  were  drenched  a  second  time,  and  then  a  third 


MAGNIFICENT  LIGHTNING.  129 

time,  and  the  third  torrent  was,  if  possible,  more  dreadful 
than  the  first. 

The  darkness  was  now  intense,  but  the  lightening  show- 
ed us  that  the  storm-god  was  driving  off  his  clouds.  As  a 
pledge  of  his  reconciliation,  there  was  a  sudden  lift  in  the 
clouds,  and  the  evening  star  shot  down  a  pure  liquid  ray 
through  an  air  thrice  washed. 

A  long  time  I  sat  in  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  watched 
the  magnificent  glitter  of  bolts  around  him,  as  he  drove 
his  dark  car  eastward  into  the  night.  Sometimes  the 
lightening  would  issue  upward  from  a  fallen  cloud,  so  that 
it  seemed  as  if  a  jagged  flame  leaped  right  out  from  the 
prairie.  Then  a  half  of  the  wThole  heaven  would  be  rent 
with  a  ragged  network  of  fissures,  revealing  another  heav- 
en on  fire  beyond.  Again,  a  bolt  would  strike  horizon- 
tally, and,  like  Acestes'  arrow,  burn  to  ashes  in  its  flight ; 
then  suddenly  kindling  afresh,  dart  out  to  an  amazing 
length,  and  explode  into  a  hundred  quivering  stems,  like  a 
clump  of  fiery  coral.  Beside  the  play  of  the  celestial  ele- 
ments in  Texas,  the  most  gorgeous  pyrotechnics  that  man 
ever  devised  pale  into  utter  contempt  and  insignificance. 
Yet  all  these  magnificent  corusations  were  drowned  into 
silence  by  the  far-off  music  of  the  storm,  as  Pindar 
sublimely  says  the  forked  lightenings  of  heaven  are 
quenched  in  the  strains  of  Apollo's  golden  lyre. 

In  Camanche,  the  uttermost  end  of  human  habitations, 
I  saw  the  second  country  school-house  of  my  whole  jour- 
ney in  the  South — both  were  in  Texas — wherein  the  hum 
of  the  alphabet  was  sometimes  interrupted  by  the  crack 
of  the  Camanche  rifle.  Genuine  Texan  perverseness ! 
"What  is  the  use  of  having  a  school  where  you  don't  have 
to  fight  for  its  privileges  ?  I  saw  a  youth,  six  feet  and  an 
inch  in  the  buff,  strap  his  spelling-book  to  his  revolver 
belt,  and  take  his  little  sister  by  the  hand,  to  go  home. 
6* 


130  SCHOOL-IIOUSE  ATTACKED  BY  CAMANCHES. 

"  Do  the  Camanches  come  near  your  school  ?"  I  asked. 

"  They  come  mighty  closte  sometimes  ;  closte  enough,  I 
reckon." 

"Did  they  ever  attack  your  school?" 

"  They  run  in  onto  us  wunst ;  they  thought  thar  was  so 
few  houses  they  could  skin  us  out,  but  they  was  mighty 
bad  fooled.  Thar  was  lots  of  bustin'  big  fellers  in  the 
school-house ;  and  we  waded  into  'em,  and  skinned  'em 
out  mighty  sudden.  I  tuk  a  scalp  myself,  and  hung  it  up 
in  the  school-house  a  while." 

From  the  Leon  westward  it  is  a  dreary  and  shaggy  re- 
gion. Wearisome  wrhitish  ridges,  marled  with  chaparral 
and  cumbered  with  limestone  boulders,  shoot  across  great 
plateaus,  frizzy  and  churlish  with  cactus,  and  wisps  of 
thorns,  and  jagged  dwarfish  live-oaks. 

In  one  place,  at  the  base  of  a  ridge,  there  was  an  acre 
of  saltlick.  The  tongues  of  the  cattle  had  rasped  out  a 
Stonehenge.  Here  was  an  earthen  pillar,  roofed  by  a  flat 
rock,  which  you  could  stand  erect  beneath ;  there  another, 
bearing  atop  a  goodly  tree. 

The  tender  pink  pellets  of  the  mimosa,  and  the  rich  and 
milky  morning-glory,  had  long  since  given  place  to  the 
exquisite  crimson  and  orange  hound' s-ear,  and  to  the  great 
apple-red,  lemon,  or  yellow  cactus  flowers,  which  rim  its 
corpulent  leaves.  The  mawkish  grass-nuts  had  yielded  to 
the  little  wild  chives,  which  we  fried  on  our  toothsome 
steaks. 

Of  the  many  varieties  of  cactus  I  will  describe  only 
one.  It  is  a  pretty  bush,  with  branches  in  links,  like  a 
string  of  little  Bavarian  sausages ;  and  every  joint  has  a 
knob  or  boss  of  prickles  like  a  small  pincushion  stuck  full 
of  needles. 

From  the  Trinity  westward  across  the  prairies — that  is 
Texas.  Here  the  future  "  cow-boy  "  is  furnished  at  six 


THE  COW-BOYS  AND  THEIR  TRAINING.  131 

with  a  cow-whip  five  times  as  long  as  his  body,  and  lifted 
into  the  stirrups.  As  soon  as  he  can  twirl  this  absurd 
whip  without  winking ;  follow  the  steer's  dodges  as  if  his 
horse  were  tied  to  his  tail ;  and  throw  a  lasso  over  him  as 
he  runs,  he  is  educated.  But  he  is  not  accomplished  till 
he  can  clutch  his  hat  from  the  ground,  as  his  horse  gallops 
past  it,  and  drive  the  pin  at  thirty  yards. 

A  little  later  he  rides  after  straying  cattle,  and  sleeps 
sub  Jove  for  weeks,  never  near  the  roadside,  never  without 
his  revolver  in  order.  He  seldom  rides  past  a  stranger 
without  laying  his  hand  on  his  pistol-butt.  lie  dogs  an 
earmark  among  a  thousand  others,  which  we  could  little 
better  interpret  than  Mr.  Pickwick  could  the  sign-manual 
of  Bill  Stubbs.  He  passes  unnumbered  curious  and  crook- 
ed brands^without  a  pause,  then  pounces  upon  one  we 
thought  we  had  seen  before.  But  he  is  right  in  his  read- 
ing. If  not,  his  little  one-eyed  scribe  will  make  it  right. 

Such  another  school  of  shrewdness,  jugglery,  audacity, 
personal  daring  and  independence  as  these  janglings  of 
multiplied  marks  and  brands,  the  wide  wild  roamings,  and 
this  constant  watchfulness  create,  is,  I  suppose,  not  to  be 
found  on  earth. 

He  leaps  in  his  stirrups  with  frenzied  delight  in  the 
maddening  chase  of  the  steer ;  he  swings  the  lasso  over  his 
head  in  circles  large  and  free.  What  cares  he  for  the 
plough?  The  nipping  air  of  Illinois  braces  the  farmer 
strongly  up  to  industry  ;  but  these  glorious,  sunny  wilds 
of  Texas,  the  wide,  the  pure,  the  buxom  air — who  would 
tread  the  stupid  furrow  here  ?  Who  would  know  any  other 
law  but  himself  and  his  fleet  mustang  ? 

The  self-reliant  and  fiercely  independent  Texan  is  little 
in  accord  with  the  pacific  genius  of  the  Republic.  Go 
out  on  the  Brazos  prairies,  and  you  will  see  a  clump  of 
small  live-oaks  tillering  from  one  tap-root,  one  being  erect 


132  TEXAS  CHIVALRY. 

in  the  middle,  and  all  the  rest  straining  away  to  the 
utmost  extent  from  every  other.  That  is  Texas. 

Texas  has  a  chivalry,  but  it  is  not  Kentuckian.  The 
Kentuckian  murders  a  negro  also,  but  he  pays  him  his 
wages  before.  When  we  think  of  Texan  chivalry,  we 
think  of  a  gray  glitter  in  the  eye,  and  a  cold  pistol  in  the 
belt.  There  is  something  dwarfish,  something  selfish  in 
the  Texan  character ;  it  is  a  kind  of  blue,  skinny,  aguish 
chivalry,  which,  while  it  scorns  your  money  for  lodging, 
will  yet  pinch  the  negro's  hire  to  the  utmost  copper. 

The  Kentuckian  adores  his  horse  ;  but  the  Texan,  though 
proud  of  a  good  horse,  lets  him  gather  "roughness"  at 
the  end  of  a  picket-rope,  and  is  too  lazy  to  keep  him  in 
plight.  The  Kentuckian,  like  the  Englishman,  is  ambi- 
tious to  excel  on  the  noble  course ;  The  Tex^  like  the 
Italian,  delights  in  mountebank  tricks,  and  in  his  horse's 
heels  above  his  head,  and  rides  him  to  death.  The  Ken- 
tuckian hunts  often  and  with  keen  relish  on  horseback; 
the  Texan,  now  and  then  shoots  a  jackass  hare  with  his 
revolver,  as  he  rides  around  his  cattle. 

The  cavalry  record  of  Texas  in  the  war  was  sorry,  com- 
pared with  that  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  Many  an 
honest  farmer  of  Georgia  and  Alabama  has  graphically 
described  to  me  how  he  welcomed  the  Texan  rangers,  with 
open  eyes  and  with  ears  joyfully  cocked  up,  as  if  they  had 
been  sons  of  the  Anakins,  come  to  destroy  their  enemies 
utterly  from  off  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  and  how  they  were 
always  so  busy  in  killing  and  eating  turkeys  that  they 
never  had  time  to  find  the  Yankees.  Forrest  weeded 
them  from  his  command  as  Sherman  did  colored  infantry 
from  his  army.  That  great  summoner  of  small  garrisons, 
imperious  and  terrible  as  we  used  to  think  him,  more  than 
once  cringed  before  their  drawn  pistols,  and  dared  not 
summon  a  court-martial.  It  is  their  tradition  and  their 


TEXAN  CAVALRY  IN  THE  WAR.  133 

proud  boast  that  no  Texan  was  ever  capitally  punished  by 
a  cis-Mississippi  court-martial. 

It  was  not  that  the  Texans  are  cowards  on  horseback, 
for  on  foot  in  Virginia  and  in  Tennessee  they  fought  with 
a  desperation  never  surpassed. 

It  was  partly  because  they  owned  their  own  horses,  and 
would  not  expose  them ;  partly  because  they  were  too  in- 
tent on  plunder ;  partly  because  they  had  little  heart  in 
affairs  beyond  the  Mississippi.  Texas  hurled  her  long- 
haired hordes  to  Red  River  in  the  saddle ;  but  it  was  as 
infantry — three  fighting  and  one  holding  the  horses — that 
they  crushed  the  unhappy  Banks.  The  Texans  in  "Wheel- 
er's cavalry  made  it  the  scoff  of  many  rebels.  Sherman 

d them  to  immortality  ;  "  Wheeler's  cavalry  are  the 

best  provost  guard  I  ever  had ;  they  keep  up  my  strag- 
glers." Wheeler's  famous  battle-cry  shows  their  character. 
When  riding  into  battle  he  would  cry  out,  "  Off  with 
your  coats !"  They  were  blue. 


CHAPTER  X. 
ON  THE  WINDY  PLAINS. 

EYEE  can  I  forget  the  feeling  of  maddening  and 
utter  lonesomeness  which  crept  over  me,  as  I  saw 
one  after  another,  every  vestige  of  civilization 
slowly  fade  away. 

We  seldom  saw  now  even  those  vanguards  of  Texan 
culture,  the  marked  and  branded  cattle ;  and  at  the  unwont- 
ed spectacle  of  a  footman  they  would  stand  afar  off,  and 
gaze  at  me  with  heads  high  up-lifted,  then  turn  in  terror, 
and  run  for  miles  without  once  stopping  to  look  round. 
Often  I  would  be  in  advance  of  the  train,  and  the  sight  of 
these  beautiful  animals — the  only  lingering  reminders  of 
the  great  world  we  had  left  behind — which  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  see  so  tame  and  confiding  in  man,  now  fleeing  in 
such  dread,  and  the  first  outlook  over  the  great,  the  lone- 
some, the  silent  plains,  gave  me  a  feeling  of  desolateness, 
so  sad,  so  strange,  as  never  I  felt  before,  except  when  from 
the  deck  of  the  steamer  I  saw  my  beloved  country,  with 
all  that  was  dear  to  me  on  earth,  slowly  drowning  in  the 
deep  Atlantic. 

The  first  day  on  the  plains  we  journeyed  all  day  through 
a  vast  republic  of  prairie-dogs.  Multitudes  of  these  blue- 
nosed,  thin-whiskered  squeakers  sat  bolt  upright  as  a  cu- 
cumber on  their  chimneys,  chirruping  faster  and  faster  as 
we  approached,  and  winking  with  their  little  black  tails  at 
every  chirrup.  When  we  came  quite  near,  they  would 
drop  down,  with  only  their  heads  and  tails  visible,  look  a 


"  ORGANIZATION."  135 

moment,  then  pop!   the  tails  would   twinkle  down   the 
holes. 

Despite  his  ugliness,  I  like  the  prairie-  dog,  he  is  so 
thoroughly  honest  and  simple.  It  is  a  pity  he  submits  so 
tamely  to  the  outrageous  impositions  of  those  Bohemians 
of  the  plains,  the  owl  and  the  snake. 

Few  of  us  saw  a  living  buffalo.  They  had  gone  north, 
to  summer  on  the  "  billowy  bays  of  grass "  in  Nebraska. 
Hundreds  of  dead  ones  lay  scattered  about,  embalmed 
in  unbroken  and  almost  imperishable  skins ;  and  in  one 
place  two  old  peg-horned  gladiators  lay  head  to  head, 
where  they  had  crushed  each  other's  skulls  for  some  shag- 
gy mistress.  A  hair-brained  fellow  came  upon  seven  alone, 
wounded  one  with  his  revolver,  then  flung  himself  off  his 
horse  upon  its  back,  and  rode  it  till  it  drove  its  head  hard 
against  the  iron  plain  in  its  dying  agony. 

As  soon  as  we  were  well  upon  the  plains,  there  began 
to  be  bruited  through  camp  mysterious  and  dark  rumors 
of  something  about  to  happen.  "  Organization,"  and 
"military  organization"  were  the  portentous  words  that 
might  be  heard  muttered  by  little  knots  of  shaggy 
herdsmen.  The  Texan  mind  cropped  out  straightway. 
A  solemn,  long-whiskered  conclave  of  owners  met  in  a 
tent,  with  a  candle,  and  forthwith  it  was  surrounded. 

"  No  Je'ff.  Davis  on  the  plains !"  grumbled  a  short,  bul- 
let-headed herdsman. 

"  D yer  organizin' !    We  got  enough  of  it  in  the 

Confederacy,"  growled  a  lank  ranger. 

"I  consider  organization  entirely  unnecessary,  super- 
fluous and  supervacaneous,"  protested  the  little  Doctor,  in 
a  squeaking  falsetto. 

One  of  the  conclave  came  forth,  and  whittled  down  to  a 
point  the  purport  of  the  business,  whereat  they  were 
appeased. 


136  BIRDS  AND  CATFISH. 

Nature  has  a  hard  task  here,  to  lead  down  the  little 
Concho  more  than  a  hundred  miles  across  this  great  and 
howling  wilderness,  beneath  the  flaming  glare  of  the  sun, 
where  every  thirsty  tongue  of  wind  will  lap,  then  hasten 
to  make  room  for  another.  A  Claudian  aqueduct  were 
not  amiss.  The  great  trees  are  the  bricks  ;  the  currants 
which  yield  our  dry  messes  sundry  fringes  of  tarts,  the 
India-rubber  bushes,  the  plums  bending  under  their  sour 
back-loads — these  do  the  chinking.  Beneath  this  magnifi- 
cent canopy  slip  the  thin  waters,  in  long  and  languid  pools, 
gliding  among  towering  islands  of  grass-tufts,  no  thicker 
than  your  hat,  or  pontooned  over  with  lilies  for  the  march 
of  Naiad  armies. 

To  see  a  catfish  of  over  forty  pound's  weight  come 
flouncing  out  on  a  naked  hook  into  this  scorching  and  tree- 
less desert — that  seemed  a  strange  thing.  Everybody  had 
a  string  of  fish  at  his  wagon-tail.  We  fried  them  under 
the  vast  pecans,  and  ate  them  with  the  oil  of  joyfulness. 

The  lack  of  water  in  June  drives  in  from  the  desert  to 
this  thread  of  greenery  a  multitude  of  birds.  Sometimes 
I  would  stroll  on  in  advance  of  the  train,  and  fling  myself 
under  a  bush,  to  snatch  a  description,  or  a  dustless  minute 
for  resting.  If  it  was  in  the  morning,  I  would  hear  the 
mournful  Carolina  dove,  the  mocking-bird,  lark,  linnet, 
and  many  others.  Foremost  of  all  would  be  the  mount- 
ain quail,  with  its  dominique  corselet,  and  its  jaunty  plume 
of  white,  always  saying  in  its  very  positive  way,  "  Pretty 
hot!  Pretty  hot!" 

All  these,  except  the  latter,  belong  to  the  prairies ;  but 
by  noon  there  would  be  nothing  but  that  songster  of 
the  plains,  the  cicala,  with  its  long  metallic  rasping,  or, 
perhaps,  an  occasional  raven  cawing.  Presently  even 
these  would  cease,  and  all  the  desert  would  be  hushed  in 
the  ghostly  silence  of  midnight.  Then  a  red-jo wled  buz- 


THE  OLD  SAILOR.  137 

•zard,  having  eyed  me  a  long  time,  would  flop  heavily  up, 
striking  a  bush  with  his  wings,  and  their  sharp  winnow- 
ing of  the  air  would  be  such  a  relief  to  the  intolerable 
nightmare  of  stillness  as  is  the  cheerful  ticking  of  one's 
watch,  when  one  awakens  from  an  abhorred  dream. 

There  was  an  old  sailor  with  the  train,  in  a  greasy  pea- 
jacket,  and  with  a  bald  and  oily  head,  who  afforded  us 
much  amusement.  One  evening  he  sat  on  a  sack  of  flour, 
some  of  which  adhered  to  his  trowsers,  and  then  he  lay 
down  to  sleep  face  downward.  In  the  night  a  half-starved 
mule  came  nibbling  and  sniffing  about,  and,  smelling  the 
flour,  joyfully  drew  near  and  gave  the  unconscious  sleeper 
a  terrific  nip.  The  hot-headed  old  man  gave  a  loud  squeal 
of  pain,  leaped  up,  and  seized  a  frying-pan,  with  which  he 
thwacked  and  thumped  the  poor  beast  till  he  chased  it 
nearly  out  of  hearing. 

On  the  plains  everybody  has  to  dig  a  fire-pit,  to  save  his 
fire  from  being  whisked  away  by  the  wind  which  blows 
forever  during  daylight.  One  evening  we  encamped  in 
rank  grass  near  the  river,  somebody  neglected  to  dig  a  pit, 
and  in  a  twinkling  a  raging  fire  was  sweeping  right  down 
upon  the  wagons.  Everybody  fell  to  beating  it  with  sticks 
and  pouring  on  water.  The  old  sailor,  while  thrashing 
about,  fell  into  the  fire  and  had  his  eyebrows  singed  off. 
After  swearing  frantically  a  while,  he  concluded  thus : — 

"  In  this  cussed  country  it  takes  two  men  to  hold  one 
man's  hair  on,  and  he  can't  keep  it  all  on  then." 

At  last  we  reached  the  uppermost  spring  of  the  Concho, 
and  encamped  to  prepare  for  the  dreadful  Jornada  across 
the  Staked  Plain.  Every  ox,  every  mule,  every  horse, 
was  driven  into  the  brook,  and  by  all  devices  of  kindness 
encouraged  to  drink  enough.  Then  everybody  took  a 
drink  himself,  sat  down  on  the  ground  a  while,  then  took 
another  and  last  drink. 


138  ACROSS  THE  GREAT  STAKED  TLAIK. 

About  two  o'clock  p.  M.  we  set  out,  and  moved  briskly 
up  a  broad  flaring  valley,  which  led  us  easily  up  toward 
the  mighty  plateau.  The  great  sun  sank  slowly  down; 
ail  the  stars,  and  the  emigrating  moon  came  forth,  and 
beckoned  us  to  follow ;  and  the  long  train  rolled  on  with 
majestic  quietness  into  the  thickening  night. 

Toward  midnight  the  herds  became  restive,  and  surged 
back  in  vast  masses  upon  the  train,  seeking  to  return ;  so 
there  was  a  momentary  halt  for  coffee.  Then  wre  were  on 
the  way  again  and  I  plodded  on  beside  the  sleeping  train. 

Ha !  the  Camanches !  See  them  yonder,  where  they 
ride  in  the  mystic  moonlight.  No,  it  is  only  the  palmas, 
in  their  grimly  sleepless  vigils,  with  their  great  bristling 
heads  of  bayonet  leaves.  The  little  Doctor,  however, 
thought  the  first  one  he  saw  was  a  Camanche  in  good  sooth, 
and  spurred  gallantly  upon  it,  with  his  heart  in  his  throat, 
as  he  afterwards  confessed,  and  clutched  his  revolver. 

Long,  long  hours  were  they  before  the  stars  began  slowly 
to  drown  in  the  morning  light.  Before  daybreak  I  had 
begun  to  reel  a  little,  in  my  sleepiness,  and  gazed  vacantly 
about,  seeing  nothing ;  but,  with  the  approach  of  daylight, 
returned  to  a  state  of  dazed  and  bewildered  consciousness. 
At  one  time  I  was  as  thoroughly  asleep  as  a  somnambulist, 
and  to  waken  by  degrees,  with  the  increase  of  light,  was  a 
novel  and  singular  sensation. 

What  a  picture  was  that  to  which  my  eyes  at  last  opened 
—  the  Staked  Plain,  gray  with  withered  grama  grass  and 
the  heather,  vast,  solitary,  voiceless. 

Many  civilized  landscapes,  like  the  cup  of  Thyrsis  or 
the  shield  of  Achilles,  are  crowded  too  full  of  figures,  and 
the  effect  is  only  exasperating  confusion.  Not  so  the  desert. 
A  few  grim  and  simple  touches  —  nothing  more. 

During  that  day  a  slight  ripple  passed  over  the  dead  sea 
of  our  march,  at  the  rumor  that  one  had  seen  fresh  tracks 


NIGHT  MARCH— A  SLEEPY  TKAIN.  139 

of  Camanclies.  Strange  what  a  thrill  runs  through  fifty 
men  of  valor,  at  the  sight  of  a  track  without  a  heel. 

All  through  the  second  night  the  wagons  roll  tranquilly 
on,  without  a  halt.  Along  the  whole  line  not  a  teamster 
keeps  his  feet.  Now  and  then  there  issues  from  some 
wagon  a  sleepy  dull  croak,  but  the  oxen  heed  it  not.  The 
.very  wagons  have  gone  to  sleep  and  forgotton  to  cluck. 
Now  some  baby  emigrant,  rudely  jostled  in  its  slumbers, 
squalls  within  the  canvas ;  but  presently  all  is  quiet  as  before. 

Like  poor  fuddled  Burns, 

"  I  stacher'd  whyles,  but  yet  took  tent  ay 

To  free  the  ditches ; 

An'  hillocks,  stanes,  an'  bushes  kenn'd  ay 
Frae  ghaists  an'  witches." 

The  distance  we  had  traveled  was  nothing,  if  I  could 
have  marched  briskly  a  while,  then  rested ;  but  I  was 
obliged  to  observe  the  snail-pace  of  the  train,  and  walk 
incessantly.  At  last  I  was  utterly  overpowered.  I  was 
constantly  in  danger  of  falling  under  the  wheels.  Probably 
half  an  hour  before  daybreak,  no  longer  knowing  what  I 
did,  I  reeled  aside  a  little,  and  tumbled  down  beside  a  bush. 
I  lay  on  one  arm  till  it  was  benumbed  and  cold,  then  flung 
the  other  over  on  it,  and  leaped  up  with  a  sickening  shud- 
der of  terror.  My  eyes  were  wide  open,  but  they  saw 
nothing.  For  at  least  ten  seconds  I  did  not  remember  a 
single  event  of  my  whole  existence.  By  chance  my  eye 
fell  upon  a  grass-tuft,  and  then,  as  the  electric  spark  flashes 
from  one  wire  to  another  under  the  experimenter's  touch, 
so  did  my  thought  leap  from  that  grass-tuft  seen  to  that 
grass-tuft  remembered,  as  I  fell  upon  it  in  the  night,  and 
everything  broke  upon  me  in  an  instant.  The  train  ?  —  it 
was  gone  I  In  that  instant  there  leaped  upon  me  an  appall- 
ing word  —  Camanche !  I  scarcely  dared  look  around. 
But  there  were  none  in  sight.  It  was  broad  daylight,  but 


14:0  THIRD  NIGHT— SHORT  OF  WATER. 

the  desert  was  silent  as  the  grave,  hushed  in  the  awful 
stillness  of  eternity. 

Remembering  that  the  Camanches  often  do  prowl  in  the 
rear  of  great  trains,  to  pick  up  straggling  horses,  I  shudder 
to  this  day  to  think  what  might  have  happened. 

The  oxen  now  began  to  suffer  poignantly  from  thirst,  as 
their  sunken  eyes  sadly  betrayed.  At  noon  I  was  carrying 
a  canteen  of  water  past  our  oxen,  when  one  of  them 
smelled  it,  and  came  running  to  me,  pleading  with  a  look 
of  such  piteous  dumb  eloquence,  that  I  was  moved  almost  to 
tears.  By  the  beard  of  my  wife's  cat !  old  Duke,  if  you  had 
never  hauled  my  blankets  a  mile,  I  would  have  poured  the 
last  drop  down  your  dusty  gullet,  if  you  could  only  have 
mouthed  the  canteen. 

In  descending  from  the  Staked  Plain  to  the  valley  of 
the  Pecos,  the  road  passes  through  Castle  Mountain.  This 
is  no  mountain,  neither  yet  like  a  castle,  but  simply  such 
a  ridge  of  limestone  as  has  been  before  described;  and, 
seen  far  off,  looks  like  the  vast  pile  of  the  Tuileries.  Though 
Castle  Mountain  looks  so  tame  at  a  distance,  Castle  Gap  is 
a  pass  of  peril,  of  awful  and  sublime  grandeur.  It  is  as  if 
some  ocean  of  tumbling  waters,  whose  bottom  the  Staked 
Plain  was,  and  of  whose  beetling  shore  Castle  Mountain 
was  a  section,  had,  in  its  upheaved  and  stupendous  lashings, 
rent  this  jagged  gorge,  and  rushed  down  the  lower  level. 

See  that  antelope  galloping  away  over  yon  patch  of  steely 
grayish  azure !  Another  one  leaps  upon  its  back,  like  dark 
Care  behind  the  Horatian  horseman,  and  mimics  every 
motion.  At  last  the  impostor  rises  so  high  that  his  hoofs 
no  longer  touch  the  groundling's  back,  but  still  his  shadowy 
legs  move  with  the  same  motions.  And  now  they  gallop 
out  of  that  phantom  lake,  and  presto !  the  upper  one  kicks 
his  seeming  into  nothingness,  and  becomes  even  as  a  wink 
of  the  unseen  when  it  is  past. 


A  LITTLE  SLEEPY 


A  RUN  FOR  THE  TECOS. 


When  we  emerged  from  Castle  Gap,  it  was  after  night- 
fall of  the  third  sleepless  night,  and  fourteen  miles  to  the 
river  yet.  There  was  still  water  in  the  casks  for  the  women 
and  children,  but  we  of  the  sterner  sex  had  not  had  a 
mouthful  for  many  an  hour.  I  started  on  in  advance 
of  the  train,  in  hope  of  reaching  the  river  before  midnight. 
The  herds  were  many  hours  in  advance,  but  little  knots  of 
the  weaker  ones,  maddened  by  thirst,  with  eyes  sunken 
and  fiercely  glaring,  were  still  reeling  along  in  the  moon- 
light. One  of  them  made  a  desperate  lunge  at  me,  and  I 
avoided  it  barely  in  time  to  see  him  plunge  headlong,  and 
bury  his  head  deep  in  the  sand.  At  last  I  could  not  walk 
over  a  rod  at  a  time,  without  stopping  to  rest.  It  was  less 
the  weakness  of  thirst  than  of  sleeplessness  and  of  exhaus- 
tion. I  struggled  desperately,  for  many  coming  jests  and 
banters  were  involved,  but  it  was  of  no  use,  and  finally  I 
lay  sprawled  upon  the  sand,  helpless  as  any  capsized  turtle. 
A  crazy  steer  made  a  pass  at  me,  but  stumbled  and  missed, 
and  we  la/  there  side  by  side. 

When  our  team  came  up,  the  driver  put  me  into  the 
wagon,  and  we  soon  reached  the  river. 

"  Shall  we  have  any  trouble  in  approaching  the  river  ?  " 
I  asked  of  a  veteran. 

"  You're  mighty  right  we  will.  'Less  yer  oxens  is  well 
broke,  you'll  have  to  put  a  man  onto  the  tongue  with  a 
axe,  and  ef  San  Antone  can't  stop  'em,  when  you  git  near 
the  river,  whale  away  and  cut  the  tongue,  and  let  'em  flicker." 

But  our  oxen  behaved  admirably.  They  stood  patiently 
till  they  were  unyoked  ;  and  as  each  poor  fellow  was  released, 
we  could  see  him  wabble  away  in  the  dim  moonlight,  and 
see  his  tail  whisk  at  the  moon  as  he  went  over  the  bank 
with  a  stupendous  souse. 

Then  every  man  made  a  run  for  the  Pecos,  and  the 
amount  of  water  which  we  drank  was  astonishing.  Though 


142  AX  APPALLIXG  SPECTACLE. 

it  was  thick  with  red  clay,  we  all  agreed  that  it  was  the 
sweetest  we  ever  drank.  Then  we  spread  our  blankets 
on  the  sand,  and  lay  down  between  the  hard  stiff  tufts  of 
the  white  grass,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  weary. 

Next  day  I  went  back  to  the  point  where  I  fell  exhausted, 
and  passed  over  the  ground  again  afoot,  so  restoring  the 
missing  link  in  my  inter-oceanic  chain. 

The  spectacle  presented  that  day  was  appalling  in  its 
ghastliness.  Many  great  droves  had  arrived  before  us,  and 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  cattle  lay  dead  about  the 
Pecos,  while  all  the  road  was  w^hite  with  neshless  bones. 
The  Pecos  is  the  very  abode  and  throne  of  Death,  for  even 
the  cayote  and  the  raven  avoid  it,  and  leave  the  carcasses 
to  waste  away,  ungnawed.  Some  of  the  frenzied  animals 
had  rushed  headlong  into  the  glittering  pools  of  alkali, 
and  quaffed  the  crystal  death,  falling  where  they  stood. 
The  Pecos  has  absolutely  no  valley  and  no  trees,  but  wrig- 
gles right  through  the  midst  of  the  plain,  wThich  is  hideous 
with  bleaching  skeletons.  Scarcely  wider  than  a  canal, 
deep,  with  its  banks  very  steep,  it  swept  down  in  its  swift 
and  swirling  flood,  innumerable  cattle  and  horses,  which 
had  struggled  so  bravely  and  so  uncomplainingly  only  to 
perish  at  the  last.  When  another  train  arrived,  I  saw  a 
man  run  along  the  bank  a  mile,  almost  beside  himself  as 
he  watched  his  gallant  horse,  which  had  borne  him  over 
the  desert  so  well,  now  feebly  struggling  with  his  remaining 
strength,  and  looking  at  his  master  with  a  pleading,  piteous 
gaze,  until  at  last  he  went  down  in  the  treacherous  Pecos. 

When,  after  many  days,  the  poor  remnants  of  the  cattle 
were  gathered  together,  it  was  a  sad  sight.  Of  those  mag- 
nificent herds  which  swept  out  so  lordly  upon  the  Staked 
Plain,  with  their  long  and  swinging  stride,  twelve  hundred 
head  lay  dead  along  the  Pecos,  or  fed  their  festering  flesh 
to  its  waves. 


CROSSING  THE  PECOS— A  POLITE  CORPORAL.  143 

The  women  and  children  were  ferried  over  in  a  Govern- 
ment yawl  at  Horsehead  Crossing,  and  the  dainty  belles 
of  the  South,  as  well  as  more  robust  maidens,  accepted  the 
hand  of  a  negro  corporal,  who  assisted  them  into  and  out  of 
the  boat. 

On  the  plain  west  of  the  Pecos  there  begin  to  occur 
those  peculiar  desert  springs,  the  Spanish  ojos,  the  eyes, 
which  weep  brackish  tears.  Far  off  we  would  see  a  deep- 
green  streak,  very  sweet  to  look  upon  in  the  dusty  dearth  ; 
but  when  we  drew  near,  we  would  find  the  grass  unprofit- 
able for  man  or  beast,  and  the  ground  moist-looking,  or 
glistening  with  sweat  of  salt  —  a  muriatic  winter  in  the 
summer  heats. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  these  curious  holes  is  Antelope 
Spring.  Right  in  the  midst  of  the  level  plain,  without  a 
wink,  or  a  twinkle,  or  a  flinching  beneath  the  torrid  glare 
of  the  sun,  it  weeps  its  miserable  abundance  straight  up 
from  a  socket  which  no  plummet  has  yet  sounded. 

But  the  name  is  full  of  significance.  What  the  swallow, 
or  the  gull,  or  the  tern  is  to  the  long-tossed  mariner,  the 
antelope  is  to  him  who  voyages  over  these  trackless 
oceans  of  dust.  Wherever  he  sees  it  scud  away  before 
him,  he  knows  that  water  is  not  far  off. 

And  here  I  must  write,  though  the  words  fly  in  the  face 
of  all  tradition,  and  break  a  lance  over  the  heads  of  all 
poets,  that  the  antelope  has  nothing  pretty  except  its  slen- 
der hoofs.  Short,  squat,  square,  of  an  uncertain  rat-color, 
with  horns  as  stupid  as  the  legs  of  a  milk-stool,  it  runs 
away  with  stiff,  chopping  leaps,  like  those  of  a  sheep  when 
it  runs  into  battle.  Presently  it  stops  to  humor  its  curiosity, 
looks  back  a  moment,  then  ducks  its  head  in  a  quick,  silly 
whirl,  and  is  off  again.  It  has  acquired  a  reputation  for 
beauty,  as  the  cicala  enjoyed  a  celebrity  with  the  Greeks 
for  song,  because  it  is  usually  found  in  a  hideous  place. 


144          ARCHITECTURE  IN  MUD— NEGROES  ON  GUARD. 

The  employer  of  the  old  sailor  was  a  big  Texan,  with 
his  trousers  in  his  boots  and  a  ring  on  his  finger,  taciturn, 
wilful,  chaotic,and  always  leaving  his  herd  to  go  to  the 
dogs,  to  ride  ignominiously  in  the  wagon  with  a  wife  no 
bigger  than  his  thumb ;  and  he  had  no  patience  with  the 
choleric  but  kind-hearted  old  man.  One  morning  he  fell 
into  an  altercation  with  him,  drew  his  revolver,  and  fetch- 
ed him  a  thump  on  top  of  his  head. 

At  the  next  fort  we  passed  he  left ;  but  before  he  went 
away,  he  came  and  asked  me  to  write  a  letter  to  his  mother- 
less daughter,  and  dictated  to  me  some  admirable  precepts. 
When  I  read  to  him  that  part  respecting  the  dying  admo- 
nitions of  his  wife,  the  old  man  covered  his  face  and  wept 
till  the  tears  trickled  out  through  his  fingers. 

The  Government  seems  to  maintain  troops  on  the  plains 
in  order  that  they  may  commence  their  education,  as  Plato 
gravely  advises  the  pupil,  by  studying  architecture  in  mud. 
All  these  valorous  "forts  "are  nothing  but  villages  of  lead- 
colored  mud,  roofed  with  canvas ;  and  each  house  is  just 
long  enough  for  the  soldier  to  stretch  himself  therein,  like 
a  sardine  in  a  box. 

Yery  unprofitable  to  the  soldier  of  peace  are  all  the  uses 
of  drilling  ;  but  to  the  negro  it  is  meat  not  sweat  for,  and 
rejoices  his  soul.  How  serenely  large  and  martial  yon  dus- 
ky Meriones  paces  his  beat,  with  his  shoes  and  his  brass  all 
a  shining !  Inadvertently  I  tread  on  the  corner  of  some 
sacred  and  awful  ground,  when  he  calls  out  loudly,  "  Halt !" 
I  go  around  toward  him,  and  he  looks  hard  at  me  knitting 
his  brows  with  portentous  sternness.  Keeping  his  musket 
stiffly  at  a  "  shoulder  "  he  says  : — 

"  You  dassent  tromp  on  dat  'ar  ground.  Dat's  de  p'rade 
ground.  You  rebels  goin'  by  hyur  allus  tromps  on  dat 
ground,  an'  I  has  orders  to  'rest  any  man  don't  keep  off.?> 

Just  then  an  officer  comes  in  sight,  riding  toward  us. 


THE  TROUBLED  SENTINEL— A  NIGHT  HALT. 


145 


The  negro  becomes  suddenly  and  strangely  troubled  in  his 
mind.  He  rolls  his  eyes  wildly;  he  glances  first  at  me, 
then  at  the  approaching  officer.  In  reply  to  a  question  I 
ask  him,  he  finally  gasps  in  a  whisper,  looking  partly  as  if 
he  were  choked,  partly  as  if  he  had  just  seen  a  ghost,  "I 
can't  speak."  All  at  once  a  light  beams  upon  him  ;  he  sees 
the  ghost  no  longer ;  he  suddenly  recollects  how  to  do  it ; 
he  whips  down  his  gun,  and  "  presents  arms,"  the  officer 
being  now  several  paces  past  him. 

From  Leon  Hole,  another  of  those  strange  weeping  eyes 
of  water,  flung  down  like  bits  of  the  sea  to  sweat  and  swel- 
ter in  the  plain,  we  set  out  across  a  forty-mile  stretch  with- 
out water.  At  sunset  I  sat  down  by  the  roadside  to  see  our 
last  day  on  the  plains  expire.  And  not  in  all  the  bloody 
climes  of  the  Orient,  where  not  even  the  daylight  is  per- 
mitted to  die  a  natural  death,  was  ever  a  fray  so  disastrous 
between  Day  and  Night.  The  whole  earth  and  the  sky 
were  flooded  with  that  fierce,  sullen  redness,  as  from  a 
burning  city  in  the  night,  which  closes  in  at  sunset  around 
the  ancient  Sphinx. 

Late  in  the  night  the  train  halted.  There  came  to  us 
from  some  pond  the  music  of  those  damp  singers  of  Aris- 
tophanes— "Brekeke-Kesh !  Kooash  !  Kooash !"  But  sweet- 
er far  was  the  clinking  of  the  chains,  as  one  after  another, 
down  the  long  lines  of  teams,  they  dropped  from  the  tired 
yokes  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XL 
IN  APACHE  LAND. 

A  YLIGHT  revealed  to  us  two  spurs  of  the  Apache 
Mountains,  straddled  far  out  into  the  plain,  like  a 
pair  of  tongs.  After  traveling  hundreds  of  miles 
over  plains  corrugated  with  limestone  lomas,  as  regular  as 
the  plaits  on  the  crimped  caps  of  our  grandmothers,  it  was 
an  inexpressible  satisfaction  to  gaze,  in  the  early  morning, 
upon  these  old  granite  monsters  heaped  up  into  the  heavens 
in  their  lordly  and  savage  lawlessness. 

From  the  day  we  began  to  ascend  the  Concho,  we  were 
in  a  prickly  country,  but  it  grew  steadily  worse.  If  Doctor 
Sangrado  cured  all  diseases  by  letting  blood,  a  man  ought 
to  enjoy  good  health  in  Western  Texas. 

On  the  Concho  some  seventy  sorts  of  cactus  sting  him, 
and  forget  to  pull  out  their  stingers.  The  mesquite  rakes 
him  fore  and  aft,  the  red  and  black  chaparro  jab  thorns  into 
him.  If  he  would  pluck  a  few  tempting  berries  from 
the  cranberry  bush,  red  with  the  blood  of  Yenus,  the 
needles  of  its  leaves  prick  his  fingers.  The  cat-claw 
holds  him  fast,  the  wax-berry  rips  long  scratches  in  his 
ankles.  The  junco  has  no  foliage,  except  immense,  green 
thorns.  In  July  some  of  these  thorns  blossom  into  thyrses 
of  minute  whitish  flowers,  each  thorn  becoming  like  a  spin- 
dle full  of  fragrant  yarn.  Even  the  India-rubber  bush 
keeps  a  stock  of  thorns  on  hand. 


A  SENSATION  IN  THE  NEGRO  CAMP. 

Here,  the  mesquite  and  cactus  are  rarer ;  but  all  tlie  others 
are  in  good  health.  If  there  were  any  lack,  the  bear-grass 
and  the  agave  would  scratch  out  the  full  tribute  of  blood. 
The  hill  mesquite  demands  its  share,  and  even  when  the 
traveler,  in  sheer  desperation,  flees  to  the  palma,  and  sits 
down  in  its  tiny  shade  —  the  only  shade  there  is  —  its  sav- 
age bayonets  stab  him  in  the  neck. 

The  bear-grass  sends  up  its  great  scope  fifteen  feet  high, 
with  a  head  like  wheat,  but  six  feet  long,  though  the  roots 
burrow  in  the  thinnest,  rockiest  soil.  Squatting  on  the 
ground,  and  defended  by  a  porcupine  armor  of  leaves,  each 
one  edged  all  along  with  cat-claws,  is  the  sweet  cabbage  or 
bulb,  from  which  Bruin  is  wont  to  make  his  Kool  slaa  with- 
out vinegar. 

"With  one  of  the  families  there  was  a  young  wench,  serv- 
ing as  a  Jane -of -all -work.  Before  the  horses  died  or 
were  stolen  by  the  Apaches,  she  was  allowed  to  ride  ;  but 
after  awhile  she  was  compelled  to  walk  a  great  part  of  the 
time.  Not  only  was  she  forced  to  work  all  the  time  we 
were  in  camp,  and  often  far  into  the  night,  while  three  or 
four  able-bodied  women  lounged  in  their  marquee,  disdain- 
ing to  cut  the  bacon,  but  they  compelled  her  to  gather 
wood  while  she  walked,  such  as  it  was,  the  dry  stalks  of 
bear-grass,  cherioudic,  etc.  More  than  that,  the  outrageous, 
little,  spoiled  brats  of  the  family  often  insisted  on  walking, 
and  as  soon  as  they  were  a  little  tired,  they  would  yell,  and 
beat  her  with  their  tiny  fists  if  she  did  not  lug  them  on  her 
back. 

I  hoped  she  would  desert  them  at  some  of  the  negro  sta- 
tions we  passed,  but  she  never  did.  To  see  thirty  or  forty 
sable  sons  of  Mars,  gorgeous  in  their  shining  brass  and  their 
blue,  with  an  abundance  of  elegant  leisure  to  keep  them- 
selves trig,  swarm  around  this  one,  poor,  forlorn  wench, 
barefooted,  bareheaded,  with  the  same  dress  she  had  worn 


14:3  THE  BEAUTIFUL  OLYMPIA  CAXYON. 

for  three  months,  and  to  see  their  ineffable  grins,  their  chuck- 
ings  under  the  chin,  their  snatched  hugs,  as  they  grew 
bolder,  and  their  surreptitious  kisses  — this  being  the  first 
"  cullud  gal "  they  had  seen  for  many  a  month  — that  was 
rare  sport. 

Ah  !  how  the  sun  flames  and  shakes  down  between  these 
rusty  iron  ridges  into  this  yellow  valley !  At  Barilla  Well 
we  got  a  little  good  water,  for  which  we  gave  thanks. 

And  now  we  approach  that  wonder  and  great  captain  of 
pinnacles,  Washbowl  Hill,  where  it  grandly  "  stands  up 
and  takes  the  morning."  On  top  of  a  perpendicular,  solid 
washstand  of  iron,  a  half-mile  thick,  there  is  an  inverted 
washbowl,  as  perfect  as  ever  was  made  at  Dalehall,  even  to 
the  chimb. 

I  was  sick  and  could  not  go  up,  but  San  Antone  scaled 
it  to  the  foot  of  the  inaccessible  washstand,  and  brought 
back  specimens  of  apparently  pure  magnetic  iron,  which 
would  clang  like  steel.  In  one  of  the  awful  canyons  whose 
depths  he  sounded,  he  was  surprised  to  hear  the  sound  of 
falling  waters.  This  would  have  been  a  miracle  on  that 
bald  mass  of  granite  in  summer,  and  upon  looking  about, 
he  found  it  was  only  the  wind  whistling  around  the  sharp- 
cut  edges  of  iron  or  granite. 

Next  came  the  famous  and  beautiful  Olympia  Canyon.  It 
is  a  valley  paved  with  gold,  and  perpendicularly  walled 
with  iron.  Standing  by  moonlight  in  the  center  of  this 
valley,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  the  vast  palisades,  which 
loo:n  above  the  slopes  of  yellow  grass,  forming  the  tiers  of 
seats,  I  could  almost  believe  myself  again  within  the  Col- 
iseum's walls,  so  thievish  is  this  air  of  distance.  Yet  the 
valley  is  three  miles  long,  and  a  third  as  broad. 

But  what  pen  can  picture  the  simple  and  natural  glories 
of  this  amphitheatre?  Thickly  covering  all  the  valley, 
and  all  the  slopes  up  to  the  palisades,  creeps  the  ripened 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  OF  TEXAS.  149 

grass,  which  the  sun  and  the  rainless  summer  days  have 
gilded  with  a  gold  of  which  Titian  never  caught  the  spell, 
nor  Claude  Lorraine  the  witchery,  as  it  lies,  and  seems  to 
creep  and  faintly  shiver  with  the  very  richness  of  its  mel- 
lowness. Elsewhere,  these  gigantic  palisades,  towering  far 
up  to  the  home  of  the  "  century-living  crow,"  but  shaken 
and  shivered  with  age,  have  hurled  down  the  slope  a  mighty 
rock,  which  lies  now,  in  a  sea  of  color  which  to  call  by  the 
name  of  gold  is  a  mockery. 

In  this  canyon  there  was  encamped  a  Government  train, 
with  its  enormous  blue  wagons,  like  wheeled  ships,  and 
with  it  an  English  tourist.  He  was  manifestly  not  travel- 
ing, as  they  say  of  Englishmen  on  the  Continent,  to  wear 
out  his  old  clothes ;  but  he  was  very  evidently  somewhat 
the  worse  for  Mexican  brandy,  or  something  else.  His 
peon  had  his  horse  at  the  spring,  and  was  vainly  tugging 
and  chirruping  in  his  sleepy  way  to  get  him  to  the  water, 
when  his  master  bore  down  upon  him  with  his  face  at  a  red 
heat. 

"  Boy,  get  away  from  that  hawse !  " 

Then  he  jumped  upon  him,  turned  his  head,  and  fetched 
a  keen  cut  under  his  belly,  whereupon,  he  shot  away  across 
the  valley,  and  £o  around  back  to  the  spring.  Then  he 
dismounted,  and  led  him  down  without  trouble. 

As  we  advance  up  the  canyon,  it  draws  its  mighty  walls 
closer  together,  till  there  is  barely  room  for  the  road  and 
the  creek.  There  are  little  mimbres,  swaying  their  long 
green  hair,  and  bright  dwarf  walnuts,  and  vast  cottonwoods, 
which  swell  almost  across  from  palisade  to  palisade.  The 
stupendous  architecture  of  Time  is  here  shown  forth  in 
pilastered  facades,  great  needles,  half  a  hundred  feet  high, 
poised  on  end,  fluted  and  cluster  columns,  standing  out 
in  bold  relief  from  the  wall.  It  is  the  Giant's  Causeway 
of  Texas. 


150  A  MESSENGER  FROM  FORT  DAVIS. 

Then  there  is  the  Devil's  Senate  Hall,  an  easy  slope, 
thick-set  with  stones  like  pulpits,  and  all  among  them  little 
live-oaks.  How  is  it  that  Old  Scratch  takes  so  much  inter- 
est in  natural  wonders  ?  On  the  Kanawha  and  the  Mus- 
kingum  he  has  "  tea-tables,"  in  Weber  Canyon  a  "  chute," 
in  the  Hartz  Mountains  a  "  chancel,"  etc.  On  the  other 
hand,  presumptuous  man  considers  his  own  puny  works 
the  suggestions  of  the  Almighty;  as  for  instance  Pope 
Nicholas  V.,  who  declared  that  St.  Benedict's  famous 
bridge  in  Avijnon  was  built  by  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  This  is  to  say,  we  are  little  better  than  the  Apaches, 
who  believe  that  the  Bad  Spirit  is  mightier  than  the  Good. 

At  last  the  road  led  us  out  from  the  canyon,  and  up  among 
a  thousand  great  grassy  knolls,  which  the  recent  rains  had 
quickened  into  tender  green.  Here,  like  Apollo  bathing 
in  Castalian  dews  and  renewing  his  youth,  we  scoop  from^ 
the  grass  with  our  hollowed  hands  the  pearly  arrears  of 
months.  One  night  we  slept  close  under  the  blue  rafters 
of  Adam's  primal  house,  snug  in  the  crib  of  a  deep,  little, 
Swiss  valley,  and  gathered  the  green  knolls  for  pleasant 
curtains  round  our  beds.  When  the  moon  came  up,  just 
washed  in  milk,  it  hung  right  above  our  curtain-posts ;  and 
all  night  long  the  shining  tears  of  St.  Lawrence  dropped 
one  by  one  from  the  heavens  above  us,  and  fell  upon  the 
knolls. 

And  this  in  the  very  heart  of  parched  and  desert  Texas  I 

A  messenger  here  returned  from  Fort  Davis,  and  made 
his  report.  More  than  a  hundred  miles  to  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  no  water  but  in  springs,  where  you  might 
dip  a  gourdful.  If  two  steers  drink  before  us,  the  reservoir 
is  dry.  What  was  to  be  done?  The  awful  lessons  of 
the  Pecos  warned  us  not  to  attempt  another  forced  march ; 
and  there  was  nothing  for  us  but  to  wait  for  the  rainy  sea- 
son, which  usually  sets  in  about  the  middle  of  July. 


WAITING  FOR  RAIN— FORT  DAVIS.  151 

Then,  as  we  sat  at  evening  around  the  "  green  cloth " 
of  our  corral,  great  was  he  who  was  counted  crafty  as  a 
rain-maker,  and  who  knew  whether  cats  look  most  at  the 
cheese  in  its  first  quarter  or  its  third.  A  party  of  us  went 
geologizing  ;— 

"  Hammering  and  clinking,  chattering  stony  names 
Of  shale  and  hornblende,  rag  and  trap  and  tuff, 
Amygdaloid  and  trachyte." 

We  found  some  pretty  bits  of  chalcedony,  and  many 
curious  specimens  of  metamorphic  feldspar,  and  silicates, 
one-half  of  which  had  been  fused  by  intense  heat,  while  the 
other  retained  its  crystalline  form.  On  a  rocky  promontory, 
where  persons  from  the  fort  had  lunched  and  cast  away 
their  oyster  cans,  one  found  a  piece  of  agate-colored  flint 
which  he  insisted  was  a  petrified  oyster.  ' 

On  top  of  the  Sierra  there  was  a  granite  bowlder,  forty 
feet  high,  standing  on  the  small  end,  like  a  wedge  entering 
a  log.  San  Antone  put  his  herculean  shoulder  against  it, 
foolishly  attempting  what  "the  innumerable  series  of 
years  and  flight  of  times"  had  failed  to  accomplish. 

Up  among  the  jagged  mountain  cedars  there  stood  lordly 
up,  here  and  there,  a  cliff  of  clean,  clear  granite,  with  niches 
for  the  swallows,  which  were  flitting  about  in  hundreds. 
Three  hundred  miles  we  had  traveled  without  seeing  a 
swallow.  Could  anything  be  more  dismal  ? 

The  great  pass  through  the  Apache  Mountains  is  fash- 
ioned just  as  if  a  strip  had  been  cut  from  the  Staked  Plain, 
twenty  miles  long  and  five  wide,  and  let  down  right  across 
the  mountain  backbone.  At  either  end  it  terminates  in 
huge  grassy  knolls,  where  the  road  goes  winding  down  to 
the  arid  deserts.  Far  across  this  green  prairie,  where  it 
surges  in  like  a  sea  against  the  base  of  a  thousand  perpen- 
dicular feet  of  granite,  Fort  Davis  cowers  in  a  corner  of 
the  mighty  wall,  beneath  its  grove  of  cottonwoods. 


152  SINGULAR  PHEXOMEXA. 

"  Sown  in  a  wrinkle  of  the  monstrous  hill, 
The  city  sparkles  like  a  grain  of  salt." 

All  the  rocks  in  these  Apache  Mountains  seem  to  have 
"been  scorched  and  molten  by  fierce  fires.  In  some  of  those 
old  nights,  when  the  earth  shook  with  her  flaming  and 
sulphurous  vomit,  gigantic  bowlders  thundered  smoking 
down  the  sides  of  the  cliff,  and  stand  now  like  houses  011 
the  edge  of  the  plain. 

Beside  one  of  these,  and  beneath  a  little  live-oak,  we  sat 
to  our  hard-earned  lunch.  We  sat  right  upon  our  table- 
cloth,which  was  of  a  subtiler  texture,  with  lush  green  floss, 
than  all  linens  of  Morlaix  or  Limerick  poplins.  We  pro- 
fane this  charming  panorama  by  no  urbs  in  rure  ;  we  clink 
no  invidious  silver,  or  glass,  or  china,  for  all  those  have 
been  prone  to  break  ever  since  the  days  of  unfortunate 
Alnaschar.  Our  vessels  are  of  tin,  and  made  for  service. 
How  happy  one  can  be  on  the  plains  with  spring  water  and 
jerked  beef ! 

Returning  to  camp,  we  found  they  had  been  employing 
the  time  in  jerking  beef.  Everybody  had  a  rope  stretched 
from  his  wagon  to  everybody  else's  wagon,  and  three  whole 
beeves  slit  and  hung  thereon. 

The  rainy  season,  in  coming  on,  presents  some  singular 
phenomena  to  a  man  bred  in  a  land  where  it  rains  in  season 
and  out  of  season.  Yast  and  woolly  masses  of  fog  would 
float  overhead  daring  the  day,  densest  when  the  sun  was 
hottest ;  but  at  night  the  moon  would  drive  them  all  away. 

Never  have  I  seen  a  lordlier  portion  of  man's  heritage 
for  lack  of  rain  so  absolutely  turned  to  inhospitable  dust. 
This  valley  has  the  soil  of  Egypt.  Cantelopes  grow  wild 
here,  but  bitter  as  the  quintessence  of  gall.  The  thrifty 
palmilla,  with  its  long  seed-stalk  atop,  looks  "like  a  Crorn- 
wellian  soldier  standing  on  sentry,  with  his  halberd  reaching 
far  above  his  head. 


A    VIEW    ON    THE    DESEKT. 


RAIX  AT  LAST.  153 

The  rainy  season  set  in  on  the  mountains  several  days 
sooner  than  it  did  here,  and  the  animals  began  to  suffer 
again  severely.  One  morning,  however,  we  saw  large 
flocks  of  cloudlets  pasturing  along  the  top  of  the  sierra, 

"  Shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind ;" 

but  as  soon  as  the  air  began  to  shake  with  fervent  heat, 
they  were  all  whisked  away.  The  first  level  beams  of  the 
day  pierce  and  gnaw,  like  fresh  coals;  toward  noon  the 
heat  is  suffocating  and  stifling,  like  the  interior  of  a  furnace. 
All  around  us,  and  far  through  its  bleak  house,  whose  wide 
corridors  shook  with  a  fierce  glare,  all  the  infinite  air  stood 
still,  with  a  faint  tremor  dying,  dying,  as  if  transfixed  by 
the  sun.  Yast  columns  of  dust  stalked  like  giants  across 
the  flaming  and  shimmering  plain. 

Then  it  was  we  beheld  a  curious  spectacle.  A  cloud 
came  up  out  of  the  south,  and  sailed  over  the  valley  far 
away,  utterly  alone  in  the  sky,  and  compact  and  black  as 
the  head  of  Medusa,  with  an  unaccountable  quantity  of 
hair  of  lightnings,  blazing  and  crackling  in  every  direction 
continually.  Then  others  came  up,  and  spitefully  slung 
some  drops  far  down  like  bullets  into  the  dust.  At  last, 
to  our  great  joy,  there  came  up  in  the  west  a  dark  and 
mighty  bank,  bringing  the  principal  rain.  It  ran  straight 
up  the  valley,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  buried  in  a 
shrilling,  oozing,  rushing,  wet  rain. 

I  saw  men  take  off  their  hats  and  swing  them,  in  a  frenzy 
of  delight  at  having  their  heads  rained  upon.  Tom  dis- 
mounted, and,  running  from  one  little  puddle  to  another, 
snatched  muddy  gulps,  though  he  never  could  get  more 
than  half  a  mouthful  before  the  well-beloved  Fanny  would 
thrust  her  nose  in  beside  him.  The  Doctor,  like  him  who 
won  Dorf  Huffelsheim,  drank  the  water  that  was  caught 
in  his  top-boots.  . 
Y* 


151  A  GORGEOUS  PAGEANT. 

It  was  well  understood  that,  but  for  this  rain,  some  of 
us  would  have  perished,  and  all  the  cattle.  "We  could  have 
reached  Eagle  Spring  in  time,  probably,  to  have  saved  most 
of  our  lives,  but  it  could  have  been  of  no  avail  to  the 
animals. 

Journeying  through  the  greater  part  of  the  night  suc- 
ceeding the  rain,  w^e  beheld  in  the  morning  a  natural 
pageant  whose  equal  I  do  not  expect  to  look  upon  again 
on  earth.  The  sun  had  just  risen  into  a  notch  in  the  sierra, 
when  with  remarkable  suddenness  there  stood  up  on  the 
opposite  sierra  a  rainbow,  than  which  not  that  on  which 
the  bewildered  eyes  of  the  lonely  family  on  Ararat  first 
gazed  could  have  been  more  gorgeous.  All  the  seven 
colors  of  the  spectrum  were  broad  and  transcendently 
bright,  and  even  the  secondary  was  more  brilliant  than  any 
rainbow  of  common  atmospheres.  All  the  space  within 
the  arch  was  gorgeously  illuminated  with  orange,  which, 
reflecting  on  the  rocks  below,  tipped  them  as  with  shining 
gold.  This  is  no  poetical  fancy,  for  they  actually  gleamed, 
with  a  brightness  equaled  only  on  the  rims  of  clouds  some- 
times. The  sky  outside  the  bow  was  dun  wTith  heavy  haze, 
and  still  dim  in  the  morning,  and  the  sun  shining  through 
the  gorge,  only  illuminated  so  much  of  the  sierra  as  the 
rainbow  spanned  ;  so  that  all  the  rest  of  heaven  and  earth 
assumed,  by  contrast,  the  weird  and  portentous  gloom  of 
an  eclipse. 

Only  a  moment,  one  brief  moment,  a  pendulum-beat  of 
eternity,  it  stood  before  us,  like  a  beatific  vision  seen  by 
Dante ;  then  the  sun  buried  itself  in  the  thick  vapors,  and 
it  was  gone,  and  dull  time  beat  on  again. 

To  this  day,  when  I  look  back  in  memory  upon  that 
rainbow,  so  great,  so  glorious,  so  beautiful,  in  that  lonely 
desert,  my  eyes  fill,  as  then,  with  the  tears  of  a  joy  that 
cannot  be  uttered.  Homer  says  even  the  immortal  gods 


APACHES-A  PASS  OF  PERIL.  155 

gazed  with  rapture  on  the  grot  of  Calypso ;  so,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  not  even  when  we  walk 
down  through  the  august  chambers  of  Paradise,  will  our 
eyes  behold  more  grandeur. 

Still  we  were  traveling  down  between  the  parallel  sierras, 
with  the  herd  ahead  again,  pushing  hard  for  the  Rio  Grande. 
After  a  weary  night's  march,  one  morning  I  saw  Fanny 
standing  by  a  bush,  a  little  distance  from  the  road.  What 
can  have  happened  to  Tom?  1  wondered.  Approaching 
carefully,  I  found  him  prone  on  the  sand,  asleep,  but  hold- 
ing the  bridle  in  his  hand,  and  Fanny  treading  over  and 
about  him  as  reverently  as  Jenny  Geddes  trod  over  poor 
drunken  Burns.  When  she  saw  me,  she  gave  the  merest 
little  whinny  in  the  world,  as  if  careful  not  to  awaken  her 
master. 

Four  miles  the  wheels  ground,  and  girded,  and  screeched 
along  the  gravelly  arrojo  which  runs  through  the  pass  into 
the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande.  It  is  a  savage  and  bristling 
hole,  with  every  stone  in  it  stained  with  blood,  and  we 
went  through  with  bated  breath,  and  every  man  with  his 
musket  on  his  shoulder.  What  are  those  moving  objects 
away  up  yonder  on  the  white  cliffs,  so  high  that  they  must 
scrape  the  sun  of  a  morning?  Bring  the  glass  to  bear. 
Ah  !  three  Apaches  dancing  on  the  rocks,  and  flouting  us 
with  unseemly  gestures.  A  long  Enfield  sends  a  bullet 
hurtling  somewhere  through  those  old,  upper  solitudes, 
and  the  flouters  suddenly  act  as  if  they  heard  something, 
•x-  #•*#*•*•## 

To  any  man  of  ideas  the  existence  of  a  soldier  on  the 
plains  is  "  the  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life,"  the 
most  complete  canker  of  the  soul,  that  can  be  conceived. 
To  the  soldier  in  Europe  there  is  often  little  better  offered  ; 
but  any  human  being  who  can  be  content  in  the  ranks  of 
our  Regular  Army,  while  all  this  great  world  is  spinning 


150  THE  SOLDIER'S  LIFE  ON  THE  PLAINS. 

"  down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change,"  is  only  one  degree 
removed  from  the  beasts  that  perish. 

And  then,  precisely  when  it  is  least  expected  and  least 
prepared  for,  comes,  at  daybreak,  the  horrid  and  heart- 
sickening  yell  of  the  Camanches ;  the  wild  swoop  through 
the  camp;  the  stinging  "bite  of  the  swift  and  quivering 
arrow ;  the  frenzied  panic  and  clutching  of  weapons,  but 
ever  too  late ;  the  flight  in  retreat ;  the  hasty  pursuit,  where 
the  half-starved  cavalry  horses  are  goaded  through  the 
fiendish  chaparral^  until  they  are  torn  and  reeking  with 
bloody  sweat,  in  the  useless  attempt  to  overtake  the  swift- 
footed  ponies;  the  blind  and  blundering  lunges  in  the 
darkness  among  the  bowlders  and  the  horrid  brambles  of 
the  mountains,  until  at  last  some  poor  fagged  brute  plunges 
headlong,  and,  by  a  merciful  fortune,  dashes  out  its  brains 
on  the  ledges. 

Then  they  set  out  to  return,  many  on  foot,  cursing  the 
miserable  imbecility  which  kept  them  rotting  in  camp 
while  the  savages  were  preparing  their  death;  without 
trophies  and  without  provisions ;  maddened  with  hunger 
and  a  raging  thirst ;  until  some  fall  in  a  delirium,  and  die 
in  the  desert. 

What  we  need  most  in  the  Indian  service  is,  men  who 
will  be  inflexibly  just,  and  then,  if  necessary,  strike,  and 
strike  home.  The  English  in  Canada,  are  not,  troubled  by 
the  Indians.  They  are  not  so  plagued  with  sentimental! sm 
but  that  they  can  occasionally  shoot  a  savage  from  the 
cannon's  mouth ;  and,  by  thus  sacrificing  one  life,  they  save 
the  dozen  Indians  and  the  half-hundred  white  men  whom 
we  murder  by  our  wretched,  half-hearted  method. 

And,  while  I  shot  one  Indian  from  the  cannon's  mouth, 
I  would  shoot  two  of  those  miscreants,  agents,  traders, 
and  the  like,  who  by  their  cheatery  and  their  swindling, 
stir  up  trouble  on  the  border. 


SAD  EXPERIENCES  OF  DESERTERS. 


157 


Be  just  to  an  Indian,  but  never  be  generons.  Generosity 
they  take  for  weakness.  Our  republican  form  of  govern- 
ment is  the  best  in  the  world  for  its  own  citizens,  but  the 
worst  in  the  world  for  outsiders,  and  especially  for  savages. 

It  is  little  wonder  that  soldiers  desert  from  a  service  so 
grossly  mismanaged.  More  than  once,  in  my  long  journey, 
some  pallid  and  haggard  wretch — his  knees  trembling  and 
his  voice  quivering  with  the  pangs  of  hunger — hesitating, 
retreating,  and  giving  me  searching  glances,  as  if  with  his 
eager  hollow  eyes  he  would  read  the  very  record  of  my 
soul,  has  at  last  half- whispered  the  dread  secret  that  he  was 
a  deserter.  Whatever  I  might  think  of  his  act  elsewhere, 
I  could  not  expose  him  in  the  deserts  of  Texas. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
UP  THE  YALLEY  OF  ONIONS. 

ROM  a  foothill  of  the  Sierra  Blanca,  covered  over 
with  spiny  tussocks  of  spear-grass,  I  looked  down 
upon  the  mighty  valley  of  the  American  Nile. 
The  sun  was  momentarily  hidden  in  the  clouds,  and  the 
dark,  and  sterile,  and  rigorous  grandeur  of  that  prospect  I 
have  never  seen  surpassed. 

Away  over  yonder  are  the  blackly  magnificent  and  sav- 
agely gloomy  mountains  of  Chihuahua.  And  that  is  Mexico ; 
the  wild  and  bloody  Ishmaelite  of  nations ,  the  Battle-God's 
Elected ;  the  ancient  and  perennial  dwelling-place  of  Assas- 
sination ;  the  home  of  stealers  of  asses  and  kidnappers  of 
men,  of  sellers  of  justice  and  buyers  of  salvation,  of  mer- 
chants of  revolution  and  farmers  of  superstition ;  a  land 
of  the  most  gorgeous  natural  landscapes  of  the  Occident, 
wherein  the  children,  by  their  candy  skeletons,  are  made 
familiar  with  figurative  death ;  and  the  most  inhospitable 
and  burning  deserts,  wherein  they  struggle  face  to  face 
with  actual  death,  but  yet  take  away  bread  from  the  mouths 
of  the  living  to  make  rusk  for  the  spirits  of  the  dead ;  a 
land  of  dark-souled  treachery  in  the  men,  and  wondrous, 
dark-eyed  beauty  in  the  women ;  always  enchanting,  always 
disquieted,  always  unhappy  Mexico,  forever  "  wedded  to 
calamity  "  as  to  a  bridegroom. 

We  were  all  that  afternoon  traveling  down  the  gravelly 
desert  to  the  river.  There  was  no  green  thing  on  this 
desert,  excepting  the  cheriondia,  a  pretty  bush,  with  bright 


OUR  FIRST  VIEW  OF  MEXICO.  159 

sea-green  leaflets,  which,  when  they  are  crushed,  give  forth 
an  amazing  stench.  Few  and  far  between  were  branches 
of  that  strange  mountain  shrub,  the  tasajo.  At  a  distance 
a  clump  of  it  looks  like  a  number  of  Mexican  lances  planted 
in  the  ground,  some  of  them  reaching  up  fifteen  feet  or 
more.  Approach  closer,  and  you  have  wax  candles,  spirally 
wrapped  with  slips  of  green  paper,  thickly  set  with  clus- 
ters of  thorns  and  minute  stemless  leaves. 

The  sun  had  already  been  "  welcomed  with  bloody  hands 
to  a  hospitable  grave  "  beyond  the  mountains  of  Mexico, 
when  we  reached  the  Rio  Grande.  Leaning  over  the  low, 
steep  banks,  we  dipped  and  drank  its  waters.  Then  it  was 
I  learned  to  appreciate  its  name.  In  my  mind's  eye  I  saw 
the  first  thirsty  Spaniard,  who,  after  journeying  long  ago 
across  some  infinite  desert  of  Mexico,  laid  himself  down 
upon  the  bank,  and  quaffed  the  fertile  waves.  Then  rising 
up,  with  the  deep,  and  quiet,  and  unspeakable  satisfaction 
of  a  thirsty  traveler  who  has  drank  enough,  he  murmured 
its  pompous  name — "  O  Great  Brave  River  of  the  North !" 

But  how  strange  is  this — a  boiling,  rich,  and  rushing 
river,  bounded  by  absolute  and  unmitigated  dust,  and  that 
dust  by  a  desert!  A  Nile  running  through  an  Egypt 
twenty  rods  wide,  in  the  middle  of  a  Sahara  twenty  miles 

wide. 

We  encamped  here  a  short  time  to  recruit  ourselves  and 
the  animals,  and  I  shall  take  this  occasion  to  introduce  the 
reader  to  the  members  of  our  mess,  the  Nothing-at-Steak. 

First  there  was  the  sunny-tempered,  golden-haired  Tom, 
a  consumptive,  poor  boy  ! — seeking  yet  a  little  lease  of  life 
in  this  "  diviner  air ;"  as  egregious  a  Eebel  as  ever  rode 
after  Wheeler  in  his  marauding  raids,  and  withal  as  light- 
hearted,  as  merry,  and  as  noble  a  soul  as  ever  inhabited  the 
flesh.  Poor  Tom !  He  was  much  wasted  by  the  fell  de- 
stroyer ;  yet  he  was  the  very  soul  of  the  camp,  always  full 


ICO  TOM,  JOE,  AND  THE  DOCTOR. 

of  fun  and  jollity,  and,  in  all  mud,  in  all  miseries,  kept  our 
mess  ever  gay.  Ah  !  Tom,  you  Kebel,  if  anywhere  in  this 
wide  world,  or  in  Texas,  you  still  live  and  joke  and  laugh, 
I  shake  your  spiritual  hand  across  this  table ;  but  if,  alas ! 
you  sleep  somewhere  beneath  the  sod,  I  will  say,  dear  Tom^ 
that  no  truer,  manlier,  and  more  joyous  spirit  ever  fought 
in  that  sad,  sad  war,  in  either  army. 

"  Oh,  looking  from  some  heavenly  hill, 
Or  from  the  shade  of  saintly  palms, 
Or  silver  reach  of  river  calms, 
Do  thy  large  eyes  behold  me  still  ?" 

His  partner,  Joe,  was  a  tall  young  man,  who  always  ate 
with  his  jack-knife.  He  had  a  Yankee  closeness,  singularly 
united  to  a  Southern  contempt  for  labor,  but  he  was  a  good 
horseman,  and  a  faithful  herdsman.  He  was  correct  in  his 
morals,  never  swore,  and  his  talk  was  of  steers. 

The  Harlequin  of  the  camp  was  the  little  Doctor.  By 
birth,  the  only  and  petted  heir  of  wealth;  by  nature,  a 
"  huge  feeder ;"  by  practice,  a  printer ;  by  after-thought,  a 
physician ;  he  was  the  strangest  genius  I  ever  came  across. 
He  had  a  sharp  nose,  always  sunburnt,  and  wonderfully 
cold,  heartless,  gray  eyes.  He  was  as  cowardly  as  Falstaff, 
and  almost  as  witty,  and  changed  his  shirt  every  other 
month.  No  matter  how  early  he  was  called,  he  was  glum 
and  stolid  as  a  log  till  about  ten  o'clock,  when  the  piston 
of  his  intellect  would  begin  to  work.  He  would  discourse 
volubly  and  with  the  Latinized  pomposity  and  ponder- 
osity of  Johnson,  on  medicine,  or  any  other  topic  under 
heaven ;  and  I  never  saw  another  man  who  knew  so  much 
about  every  possible  subject,  and  yet  knew  so  much  of  it 
wrong.  He  carried  a  dictionary  in  his  pocket,  and  studied 
"on  herd"  and  "off  herd."  Yet,  when  the  humor  was 
on  him,  he  would  sit  cross-legged  by  the  fire,  rocking  his 
body  backward  and  forward  like  a  dervish  reading  the 
Koran,  and  set  the  camp  in  a  roar  with  his  "  whangdoodle 


THE  YOUNG  EMIGRANT.  161 

Dave  was  a  broad-shouldered  Ranger,  with  a  blood-red 
face  and  a  mighty,  black  beard.  He  rolled  up  his  blankets 
every  morning  with  a  peculiar  soldier-twist,  so  that  they 
would  stay  without  being  tied ;  and  he  could  always  find  a 
particular  vagabondizing  yoke  of  oxen  when  nobody  else 
could.  Dave  was  an  exceedingly  useful  and  good  fellow, 
all  of  which  he  knew  very  well. 

San  Antone  was  the  heraldic  name  of  the  greatest  ox- 
tamer  I  ever  saw,  a  German  from  Western  Texas.  I  never 
knew  another  man  of  such  fierce  and  amazing  energy  in 
his  wrestles  with  the  hellish  brutes,  and  with  such  appalling 
bursts  of  passion  sometimes,  who  yet  was  so  thoughtful  of 
his  oxen.  He  never  killed  an  ox,  while  every  other  driver 
killed  from  four  to  a  dozen. 

The  Texans  would  often  ride  alongside  a  feeble  calf  and 
shoot  it  carelessly  through  with  the  revolver.  One  that 
strayed  from  the  herd  a  few  times  seldom  escaped  being 
wounded  or  killed.  In  beautiful  contrast  with  this  cruelty 
was  the  tenderness  of  another  Texan.  He  had  a  calf  which 
could  not  follow  the  train,  so  he  procured  a  green  rawhide, 
swung  it  as  a  hammock  under  his  wagon,  and  every  morning 
the  young  emigrant  was  hoisted  into  it,  and  rocked  all  day 
in  breezy  comfort.  The  cow  would  stay  to  see  the  operation 
safely  performed,  then  go  off  with  the  herd,  but  she  would 
often  come,  and  walk  and  moan  beside  it,  and  lick  its  little 
head,  as  if  to  be  sure  of  its  safety. 

One  day  two  men  from  another  train  swam  across  the 
river,  trans  pilum  aquce,  invading  Mexico,  to  steal  melons. 
They  were  warned  that  it  was  at  the  peril  of  their  lives, 
but  they  persisted  in  going.  The  river  was  at  its  summer 
flood,  often  half  as  wide  as  the  Mississippi,  and  we  stood 
on  the  shore  and  watched  them.  Now  they  would  swim ; 
then  they  wrould  flounder  knee-deep  across  an  island  of  silt, 
level  with  the  water ;  then  swim  again  ;  and  at  last  we  saw 
their  white  forms  emerge  upon  the  other  bank. 


1G2  FATE  OF  TEE  MELOX-STEALERS. 

See  now,  the  white-clad  Mexicans  swoop  fiercely  down 
upon  them,  swinging  their  lazos.  Their  infuriated  yells 
are  heard,  the  men  run,  they  wildly  throw  up  their  arms 
to  parry  the  lazos.  But  the  fatal  nooses  catch  them  some- 
where, and  the  little  mustangs  gallop  swiftly  away  into  the 
mountains,  dragging  the  victims  brutally  on  the  ground, 
as  Achilles  dragged  the  fallen  Hector. 

We  never  saw  them  after.  They  were  ruffians  for  whom 
no  one  seemed  concerned,  and  nobody  cared  to  expose 
himself  by  swimming  over  that  treacherous  river  for  re- 
venge. Mexican  retribution  is  more  swift  and  summary 
than  Schiller's  justice  in  Venice. 

The  hot  afternoons  often  brought  little  showers,  which 
would  hover  about  the  tops  of  the  Sierra  Hueca,  but  never 
dampen  our  burning  heads.  Next  morning  little  fog-pellets, 
very  dense  and  clean-cut,  would  nestle  like  pearls  in  the 
niches  of  the  intensely  azure  mountains.  And  never,  even 
on  the  Arno,  or  the  "  haunted  Rhine,"  or  on  the  magic 
shores  of  Lake  Como,  have  I  seen  such  a  sunrise  as  on  the 
Rio  Grande,  after  a  rain  had  softened  the  mountain  atmos- 
phere with  thin  and  mellow  vapors.  And  I  do  herewith 
make  humble  confession  that  I  gazed  upon  these  glorious 
blue  mountains,  tipped  with  orange  clouds,  these  enchanting 
poems  of  earth,  in  daintiest  "  blue  and  gold,"  lying  lazily 
in  my  blankets.  Thereby  I  made  a  valuable  discovery. 
If  the  reader,  in  beholding  this  sort  of  phenomena,  will 
incline  his  head  half  over,  he  will  be  rewarded  with  a  mar- 
velous enchantment  of  its  beauty. 

For  ninety  miles  along  the  Rio  Grande  there  was  no 
pasture,  and  the  grass-eating  Texans  were  in  a  state  of 
distraction.  But  the  animals  soon  learned  to  eat  mesquite 
beans  ravenously,  as  all  things  do  here. 

See  how  Nature  is  just  to  all  regions.  Here  is  this  de- 
testable cactus,  worthless  you  will  say.  Pass  the  dropsical 


MEXICAN  AGRICULTURISTS.  163 

leaves  through  the  blaze,  to  singe  off  the  prickles,  and  the 
oxen  will  devour  them  greedily,  and  fatten.  Split  some 
and  drop  them  into  a  bucket  of  water,  and  they  will  clarify 
it  as  an  egg  does  coffee.  Clap  a  piece  on  your  felon,  and 
it  will  cure  it  like  magic. 

This  and  the  mesquite  are  almost  the  only  flora  vouch- 
safed to  this  region.  But  these  long,  and  silvery,  and 
scarlet-speckled  pods,  growing  twice  a  year,  nourish  the 
goats,  and  yield  the  Mexican  himself  a  sweetish  succulence 
like  apple  pummice.  There  is  no  coal  hereabout,  but  its 
pretty  walnut  wood  makes  such  a  fierce  heat  the  smith  can 
weld  his  tire  with  its  coals  alone.  Where  there  is  only  the 
merest  sprig  above  ground,  just  under  the  surface  there  are 
enormous  roots,  which  burn  well  w^hen  freshly  grubbed. 

As  one  approaches  San  Eleazario,  the  bottom  expands 
into  a  goodly  breadth  of  ranchos.  Hoeing  in  the  young  corn 
were  squat  and  swarthy  fellows,  cool  in  their  umbrageous 
sombreros,  with  their  white  shirts  pulled  outside  their 
trousers  of  immaculate  white — it  was  Monday — which  were 
rolled  high  above  their  knees.  How  I  envied  them,  as 
they  tramped  through  the  freshly  watered  furrows,  in  the. 
soft  mud. 

The  Mexican  plow  is  simply  a  cotton-wood  branch,  which 
makes  a  scratch  in  the  weeds  that  look  like  a  black  snake. 
It  has  a  little  straight  peg  of  a  handle,  which  the  fellow 
leans  lazily  over  upon  with  one  hand — he  walking  on  one 
side  of  the  row  of  maize,  the  oxen  and  plow  on  the  other 
— while  with  the  other  he  cavalierly  flourishes  his  goad 
and  husk  cigarrito.  There  are  several  teams  in  the  same 
row,  and  every  time  they  come  out  to  the  end,  they  stop  a 
wrhile,  chat,  and  light  fresh  cigarritos.  Then  the  oxen's 
heads  are  turned  into  the  rows  again,  and  away  they  go 
almost  on  a  trot.  With  what  elegant  nonchalance  for  a 
plowman  that  fellow  elevates  his  chin,  to  whiff  out  a  wreath 


THE  SHEEP-DOGS,  AND  THEIR  CHARGE. 

of  smoke.  Now  lie  looks  back  over  his  shoulder,  like  that 
exceedingly  unpractical  and  impossible  husbandman,  Jason, 
when  he  was  plowing  with  the  mythological  bulls. 

Here,  too,  are  the  calico  flocks  of  goats,  and  the  famous 
New  Mexican  sheep-dogs.  "Wolfish,  shaggy  curs  are  they, 
with  sinister-looking  eyes,  set  close  together,  like  a  cayote's, 
which  probably  assisted  in  their  genealogy.  It  is  very 
amusing  to  see  the  serious,  business-like  way  in  which  he 
marches  along  beside 'the  foremost  goat,  and  the  stern  frown 
of  reproof  he  casts  upon  him,  if  he  halts  to  browse.  If 
that  does  not  suffice  to  keep  him  moving,  he  gently  nibbles 
his  knees,  or  tweaks  his  wattle.  The  goat-herd  brings  up 
the  rear. 

"We  met  carts  on  the  road,  taking  wheat  to  market. 
These  are  deep  boxes,  woven  of  cane  tight  enough  to 
hold  wheat,  and  mounted  on  a  pair  of  enormous  wooden 
wheels,  which  go  wabbling  along  as  if  they  were  ashamed 
of  being  yet  on  earth,  when  they  ought  to  be  in  the  grave 
with  fourteen  centuries.  The  Mexicans  cruelly  bind  the 
yoke  fast  behind  the  oxen's  horns  with  thongs,  which 
destroys  the  free  and  majestic  swing  of  their  gait,  and  makes 
them  travel  with  their  heads  down,  as  if  they  were  running 
a  tilt  in  a  bull-fight.  By  this  means,  and  the  use  of  the 
remorseless  goad,  the  Mexican  teamster  seldom  travels  less 
than  twenty-five  miles  a  day,  while  the  Texan  only  goes 
fifteen. 

The  common  jacal  of  the  peon  is  built  of  stakes  set  in 
the  ground,  and  plastered  with  mud,  and  is  just  the  same 
for  shape  as  if  one  should  set  a  sharp  Gothic  roof,  with  its 
gables,  on  the  ground.  The  ranchero  makes  a  flat-roofed 
adobe,  on  three  sides  of  a  square. 

None  of  their  abodes  are  fenced,  and  all  the  ground  about 
is  perfectly  bare,  and  hot,  and  dusty,  unshaded  by  trees. 
Hopes  are  stretched  across,  and  hung  with  long  strips  of 


SAN  ELEAZARIO  AT  XOOX.— A  DROWSY  VILLAGE.  1C  5 

beef,  and  large  quantities  of  red  and  green  peppers  and 
garlic.  Here  there  is  a  mud  coop,  there  a  mud  oven.  Kids, 
lambs,  pups,  and  little  swarthy  brats  tumble  over  each  other 
in  great  jollity,  right  in  the  scorching  glare  of  the  sun. 
The  merest  little  pod  of  a  rascal  had  nothing  on  but  a  belt 
and  a  mighty  dagger. 

The  soil  here  is  of  an  incredible  fertility,  as  is  shown  by 
the  yield  of  wheat,  and  the  great  number  of  people  sup- 
ported on  these  narrow  slices  of  bottoms.  There  were 
colossal  pear-trees,  bending  under  their  puckering  and  mis- 
erable fruit,  and  plenty  of  vapid  apples.  But  the  black 
Socorro  grapes  have  in  them  the  brave  Spanish  blood,  fiery 
and  heady,  though  they  lack  that  exquisite  and  indescribable 
French  nothingness,  which  is  the  soul  of  champagne.  But 
those  incomparable  El  Paso  onions — they  atone  for  all 
lackings.  Many  a  one,  great  and  sweet,  did  we  eat  raw, 
in  our  ravenous  hunger  for  vegetables,  and  thought  them 
better  than  whitsours. 

The  people  were  all  asleep  at  noon  when  we  passed 
through  San  Eleazario,  and  as  I  walked  down  that  long 
street,  between  the  low,  mud-built  walls,  I  thought  again  of 
my  lonely  and  wondering  stroll  through  the  echoing  solitudes 
of  Pompii.  Dreary  and  dismal  were  those  blank  walls, 
without  window,  or  shutter,  or  shade,  or  awning,  while  the 
wonderfully  white  and  pitiless  sunshine  of  the  Rio  Grande 
shook  and  shimmered  unrestrained.  What  a  weird,  ghostly, 
shuddering  march  was  that  of  ours,  through  that  sunken 
and  fiery  street,  beneath  the  rain-spouts  on  the  roofs,  strain- 
ing far  out,  like  imps  on  their  bellies,  to  stare  down  upon 
the  intruders.  Not  a  soul  was  abroad  in  all  the  village, 
save  here  and  there,  one  of  those  old  shriveled  women  who 
never  sleep,  perched  like  a  witch  on  the  roof  to  watch  her 
garden. 

"We  could  peer  through  the  tiny  wooden  gratings  into 


166  MEXICAN  BEAUTIES.— STREET  SCENES. 

rooms  cool,  and  silent,  and  dark.  Like  poor  Steele  in  his 
cups,  when  he  tore  down  the  curtains  at  the  Rose,  these 
simple  villagers  "  have  no  secrets  here."  The  noise  occa- 
sionally awakened  a  sleeper,  and  a  pair  of  bewitching  black 
eyes  would  peep  through  the  grating,  and  then  the  white 
curtain  would  flash  across.  These  absurd,  mousing  Amer- 
icans !  They  have  no  more  sense  than  to  keep  awake  at 
noon,  and  go  prowling  about ! 

The  very  dogs,  lying  in  the  hot  dust  beneath  the  eaves, 
w^ere  true  Mexicans,  for  if  kicked  aside,  they  only  slunk 
away  a  little,  then  sneaked  up  and  silently  snapped  the 
intruder's  heels.  Then  a  cur  more  cantankerous  than  the 
others  would  dash  into  the  herd,  and  it  would  surge  like  a 
stupendous  billow  over  some  miserable  jacal,  or  some 
ancient  and  evil-smelling  corral  of  goats,  and  trample  their 
venerable  whiskers  in  the  dust. 

Later  in  the  day  we  passed  through  another,  village,  and 
found  the  streets  narrow  as  usual,  but  agog  now  with  the 
slow  and  indolent  stir  of  Mexican  life.  Pretty  and  graceful 
girls — there  are  none  other — glided  along  in  white  bodices 
and  the  inevitable  scarlet  sashes,  holding  over  their  heads 
their  bright-colored  rebozos.  They  pinch  them  together 
so  archly  under  their  chins  that  their  round  faces  and  black 
eyes  look  like  a  picture  in  a  frame.  And  they  are  so  very 
numerous  in  the  streets  just  now !  And  they  are  so  very 
pretty !  And  they  look  upon  these  shaggy,  and  big-bearded, 
and  savage  Texans  so  very  graciously ! 

A  wrinkled  and  ancient  hag,  with  her  coarse  hair  trailing 
blackly  down  her  shoulders,  squatted  under  a  bush-canopy 
in  the  plaza,  with  a  basket  of  pears. 

"  How  much  a  dozen  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Quatro  reales,  senor.  Muy  ~buenas  peras"  And  she 
began  rapidly  to  tumble  them  into  my  hands,  as  if  the  bar- 
gain were  already  clenched.  But  they  were  wretched 
knurly  things,  so  I  started  away. 


FORT  BLISS— FRANKLIX— EL  PASO.  167 

"  0,  senor,  ires  recites  \  three  bit.  Good  peareys.  Come 
back." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  them,  then  started  again  and 
went  several  steps,  as  if  in  good  earnest. 

"  0,  senor,  you  buy ;  two  bit.  Yery  good.  Come  back. 
Two  bit,  senor." 

I  took  the  pears  for  that,  not  because  they  were  worth 
anything  whatever,  for  I  fed  most  of  them  to  the  next  pig, 
but  because  she  had  deigned  at  last  to  speak  English. 

Weary  and  many  were  the  days  we  journeyed  up  the 
Rio  Grande.  Every  morning  at  sunrise  the  eastern  sierra, 
beneath  the  sun,  would  be  most  intensely  and  brilliantly 
blue,  and  the  western  linten-colored.  At  sunset  this  would 
be  reversed. 

Fort  Bliss  stands  on  a  little  crescent  shelf  of  shore,  nearly 
level  with  the  river.  What  w^ith  the  gravel  walks,  smooth 
as  if  dressed  with  a  jackplane,  the  rows  of  whitewashed 
trees,  the  long  white-stuccoed  barracks,  the  grim,  old, 
shining  cannon,  and  the  pacing  sentinels,  we  seemed  almost 
at  home  again. 

On  both  sides  of  the  river  the  bottom  narrows  in  to  a 
point  at  the  outlet  of  the  pass,  and  on  one  point  stands 
Franklin,  on  the  other  El  Paso.  We  could  see  nothing  of 
El  Paso,  though  it  is  miles  in  length,  except  a  few  yellow 
moresque  spires  above  the  long  wall  of  cottonwoods.  In 
Eranklin  we  found  pretty  stuccoed  houses,  in  American 
style,  linen  coats,  wrangling  lawyers  with  their  legs  on  the 
tables,  sherry  cobblers  (without  ice),  streets  wide  and  shaded 
by  great  trees,  and — better  than  all  else — a  post-office  with 
letters  from  home. 

The  sierras  here  round  grandly  in,  to  form  the  famous 
Pass  of  the  North,  and  approach  each  other  parallel  within 
a  mile,  for  a  distance  of  about  five  miles.  The  sloping 
deserts  of  gravel  on  both  sides  of  the  river  are  compressed 


168 


THE  PASS  OF  THE  NORTH. 


into  an  elevated  plain,  through  which  is  trenched  the  Rio 
Grande.  There  is  no  sublimity  of  mountain  grandeur  at 
all,  but  the  panorama  is  highly  impressive  and  even  impos- 
ing, by  reason  of  its  mighty  vistas,  its  vast  deserts,  its 
blue-stretching  sierras,  and  the  cheerful  greenery  of  the 
river  region,  like  a  flat-iron  for  shape,  with  its  point  shoved 
into  the  pass. 

From  the  haggard,  and  scarred,  and  ghastly  heights  of 
the  plain  you  look  down  on  the  river,  and  feel  that  there 
is  fertility  yet  left  in  the  world  somewhere.  Over  on  the 
Mexican  side  you  see  pale  straw-colored,  or  milky,  or  rich 
creamy  cliffs  of  limestone,  some  of  them  wavy-streaked 
with  yellowish  -amber,  like  gigantic  agates.  The  exquis- 
itely tender  green  of  the  mountain  mesquite,  dotting  with 
little  clumps  these  mellow  and  milky  cliffs,  gives  indescrib- 
ably beautiful  effects  of  color. 

Thus,  in  more  senses  than  one,  the  view  I  had  of  Texas 
in  leaving  it,  as  Dr.  Johnson  said  of  Scotland,  was  the 
finest  I  saw. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AMONG  THE  ENAMELED  HILLS. 

A 
\ 

i E FORE  we  entered  New  Mexico,  we  met  a  little 
shabby  man,  on  a  little  shabby,  mouse-colored  mule. 
On  his  head  he  wore  a  Mexican  sombrero,  from 
under  which  peered  out  two  small  eyes,  which  evidently 
were  not  made  for  nothing.  He  never  looked  anybody 
in  the  face,  but  he  asked  a  great  many  questions — not  about 
cattle  at  all — and  took  a  good  many  side  squints  at  the 
herd. 

A  day  or  two  after,  somehow  or  other — nobody  could 
tell  precisely — we  met  him  again.  Soon  afterward  it  so 
happened  that  we  overtook  him,  and  we  began  to  feel  now 
that  we  were  quite  well  acquainted,  and  that  he  was  a  very 
valuable  person  to  us,  he  gave  us  so  much  useful  informa- 
tion. Some  shook  their  heads,  but  indeed  I  don't  see  how 
we  could  have  dispensed  with  him  at  all.  He  seemed  to 
know  the  entire  country  round  about,  and  told  us  so  kindly 
where  the  best  grazing  grounds  were  to  be  found.  He 
staid  with  us  in  camp  one  night,  "  seeing  it  happened  that 
he  was  belated,"  and  amused  us  to  a  late  hour  with  Indian 
stories,  which  were  very  harrowing  and  blood-curdling. 
In  fact,  the  hair  on  one  man's  head  stood  up  to  such  a  de- 
gree that  it  hoisted  his  hat  off.  A  night  or  two  afterward 
we  heard  an  unaccountable  number  of  Indian  yells  around  - 
our  camp,  which  were  exceedingly  hellish  and  terrific; 
and  the  next  day  we  found  many  moccasin  tracks  in  the 
road. 

8 


170  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  RIO  GRAXDE. 

After  that  wo  never  saw  our  kind  informant  more ;  but 
in  the  due  lapse  of  time  we  ate  bread  which  was  fermented 
with  his  yeast. 

Meanwhile,  from  the  elevated  sandy  desert  near  Los 
Cruces,  we  will  look  down  upon  the  valley  of  the  Ilio 
Grande  in  its  noblest  proportions.  This  desert  stretches 
back  to  the  Organ  Mountains,  which,  with  their  silver  pipes 
of  pinnacles,  stand  so  lordly  up  in  the  blue  galleries  of 
heaven.  The  old,  adventurous  Spaniards,  if  they  did  a 
little  too  often  seek  to  square  accounts  with  their  neglected 
saints  by  giving  their  names  to  mountains,  nevertheless 
had  an  eye  to  the  resemblances  of  nature,  and  at  least  never 
perpetrated  such  hideous  vulgarities  as  Hog-eye  and  Shirt- 
tail  Canyon. 

Looking  toward  the  valley,  we  see  an  immeasurable  con- 
tiguity of  corn,  just  coming  into  floss  and  tassel,  or  a  piece 
of  a  wheat  field,  full  of  shocks,  or  one  of  those  fabulous 
meadows  of  alfalfa,  mown  five  times  a  year,  and  yielding 
$1,200  per  acre.  Here  at  least  laziness  is  sense,  for  it 
saves  the  scattered  trees,  which  wade  up  to  their  knees  in. 
the  corn,  all  along  the  distant  river.  On  the  Mexican 
side  of  the  Rio  Grande  a  huge  section  is  knocked  clean 
out  of  the^  sierra,  and  a  singular,  reddish-purple  plain 
sweeps  back  through  the  gap,  till  it  rounds  down  out  of 
sight.  Over  it  hang  some  "  shadow-streaks  of  rain." 

Down  in  the  valley,  among  the  white  encampments  and 
the  vast  herds,  sleepily  chewing  the  cud,  or  just  toppling 
over  into  the  afternoon  siesta,  a  Mexican  in  a  red  gala  shirt 
and  a  straw  sombrero  has  just  thrown  the  lazo  over  a 
steer.  His  little  mustang  buckles  down  to  it  mightily,  and 
tugs  the  sullen  brute  along,  while  the  assistant  runs  along 
behind,  and  twists  his  tail,  or  pricks  his  sides  with  the  re- 
morseless goad. 

Hero  come  a  ranchero  and  his  spouse,  on  a  ridiculously 
little  nag,  hurrying  home  from  Los  Cruces  before  the  rain. 


BREAKING    A  MUSTANG.  171 

The  woman  has  the  saddle,  and  sits  facing  to  the  right, 
but  the  man  behind  has  both  stirrups,  the  reins  of  the 
bridle,  and  the  woman.  He  hugs  her  so  tightly  around 
the  waist  that  she  turns  unmistakably  red  in  her  black  face. 
Or  is  it  because  everybody  in  camp  laughs,  and  this  red- 
ness is  a  blush  ?  It  was  such  a  funny  sight,  like  two  well 
developed  baboons  on  a  galloping  goat,  with  their  feet 
almost  dragging  on  the  ground. 

The  Mexicans  are  exceedingly  keen  in  a  barter,  and  sel- 
dom failed  to  overreach  the  Texans.  "Whenever  we  were 
near  a  village,  they  would  swarm  around  us,  both  men  and 
women,  apparently  determined  to  get  what  little  money 
there  was  in  the  train ;  and  our  men  seemed  to  lose  their 
senses,  and  were,  as  they  said,  "  bound  to  trade  something 
anyhow."  A  good  American  horse,  a  little  jaded  perhaps, 
or  two  or  three  cattle,  with  some  contemptible  boot  of 
onions  or  such  things,  were  freely  given  for  a  mustang,  an 
animal  which  I  detest  more  than  a  mule. 

Yonder  you  see  a  crowd  around  a  North  Alabama  giant, 
who  is  trying  to  break  his  new  acquisition.  The  execra- 
ble beast,  with  a  rag  tied  around  his  eyes,  rears  and 
plunges,  then  runs  backward,  then  forward  again,  and 
"  bucks."  Then  he  stands  still,  and  kicks  up  more  than  a 
score  of  times,  while  the  crowd  roars  with  laughter.  Now 
he  reaches  round,  in  his  raging  hatred,  and  tries  to  masti-, 
cate  his  rider's  knees ;  now  he  lies  down  and  rolls  over ; 
now  he  gets  up,  and  runs  like  a  thief,  and  stops  so  sud- 
denly that  the  rider  goes  over  his  head,  and  alights  upon 
his  pate.  Now  he  is  up  again,  and  has  the  beast  down  on 
the  ground.  He  sits  on  his  head,  he  tweaks  his  ears,  he 
jounces  himself  up  and  down  on  his  belly,  he  tickles  him 
in  certain  spots  reputed  to  possess  a  mysterious  efficacy 
and  connection  with  damnableness. 

Now  he  is  up  and  astride  of  him  again,  and  the  beast 
behaves  himself  much  better.  He  is  conquered.  "  Ex- 


172  FRIGHTENED  BY  INDIANS. 

perientia  does  it."  But  you  may  ride  a  mustang  once  a 
week,  and  you  will  have  to  conquer  him  over  again  every 
time. 

Yonder  in  the  chaparral  a  paysano  runs  swiftly  along, 
trailing  his  long  tail-feathers  in  the  dust,  in  pursuit  of  a 
snake.  One  can  almost  accuse  Nature  of  injustice  here, 
for  this  bird  has  poor,  dusty-looking  plumage,  cannot  fly, 
and  has  no  song  but  a  sort  of  clucking  or  thrumming,  like 
the  noise  of  a  bone  castanet.  It  is  a  shy  bird,  and  seems 
to  feel  as  if  it  were  treated  unfairly,  for  there  is  in  its  poor 
cluck  now  and  then  a  note  of  touching  sadness,  as  if,  with 
the  soul  of  Procue  imprisoned  in  its  body,  it  were  bewail- 
ing its  hard  destiny.  If  we  had  the  wonderful  ring  of 
Canace,  by  wearing  which, 

"  There  is  no  foule  that  fleeth  under  heven, 
That  she  we  shalle  understand  his  Steven," 

what  should  we  hear  ?  Do  birds  ever  really  mourn  ?  To 
our  ears,  accustomed  to  sounds  that  express  grief,  they 
seem  to  at  times.  To  my  ear,  the  warble  of  the  bluebird 
is  the  voice  of  deep  melancholy  trying  to  be  cheerful, 
smiling  through  its  tears,  as  it  were ;  but  the  cluck  of  the 
paysano  seems  to  be  the  wail  of  utter  and  hopeless  des- 
pair. 

When  we  reached  Fort  Selby,  and  were  about  to  cross 
the  river,  there  appeared  among  us  a  government  beef-con- 
tractor for  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  and  some  were  so 
malicious  as  to  think  we  then  had  an  explanation  of  the 
terrific  Indian  whoops  with  which  we  had  been  serenaded. 

There  was  one  of  the  owners  of  the  herd,  who  had  a 
big,  short  body,  and  a  big  head.  His  face  was  like  a  small 
ham  of  bacon,  but  less  expressive,  rimmed  with  short, 
black  whiskers.  He  was  very  conceited,  and  very  silly, 
and  very  cowardly,  and  his  name  was  Henry.  The  Indian 
stories  of  the  cunning  emissary  had  greatly  frightened 


HEXRY  SELLS  OUT— DIVIDING  THE  CATTLE.  173 

him,  and  lie  now  sold  his  share  to  the  contractor  at  a 
ridiculously  low  figure,  and  they  at  once  set  about  the  te- 
dious work  of  separating  them. 

The  scene  is  •  a  vast,  sandy  desert,  faintly  greened  with 
grass,  sweeping  back  to  the  Organ  Mountains,  and  in  the 
front  distance  Fort  Selden,  miles  away  by  the  river.  Here 
and  there  is  a  dead  sage-bush,  sprawling  flat  in  a  gray  ro- 
sette upon  the  ground,  or  a  little  ccmutillo  bush,  with 
leaves  like  jointed  knitting-needles. 

Every  herdsman  is  on  duty  to-day,  riding  slowly  around 
the  monster  herd.  Half  a  dozen  owners  end  their  delib- 
erations in  the  Captain's  marque,  mount  their  superb 
steeds,  and  lope  leisurely  away  across  the  plain  to  the  cat- 
tle. The  little  stout  man,  Henry,  with  the  red  face, 
"  tosses  up  "  with  his  tall  partner,  George,  for  first  choice. 
George  wins.  He  surveys  the  herd  a  moment. 

"  Cut  out  that  black  fellow  with  the  lop-horn,"  he 
quietly  orders  one  of  the  herdsmen.  The  man  rides  in 
and  puts  his  well-trained  horse  behind  the  one  designated. 
He  works  him  slowly  out  to  the  periphery  of  the  herd, 
then  quickly  spurs  up,  whereupon  the  horse  hunts  him 
swiftly  out,  following  all  the  animal's  dodges  so  closely 
that  he  finds  himself  irresistibly  projected  in  a  straight 
line. 

"  Cut  out  that  blue  one,  with  a  cross  and  an  under-bit 
in  the  left,"  cries  Henry,  with  much  importance. 

Another  herdsman  hunts  him  out  in  the  same  manner. 
George  orders  out  a  third.  Thus  they  alternate,  the  con- 
tractor keenly  looking  on  the  while,  ani  occasionly  con- 
sulting with  Henry  aside.  So  the  wrork  goes  bravely  on, 
until  the  herd  of  those  parted  off  begins  to  assume  consid- 
erable proportions,  and  the  weary  horses  are  relieved  by  a 
fresher  relay.  Then  a  dispute  arises  about  a  "  maverick," 
that  is,  a  stray  they  had  picked  up  in  Texas. 


174:  AN  IXSULTED  HERDSMAX. 

"  But  I  say,  Henry,"  says  George,  riding  a  few  steps 
closer  to  the  herd,  "  that  animal  is  my  private  property, 
not  subject  to  choice." 

"  But  he  haiiit  got  a  ray-wheel  on  his  gob." 

"  But  he's  got  a  swallow-fork  on  his  nipper." 

"  I  thought  yourn  had  a  bottle  on  the  clod." 

"No,  he  didn't.  " 

Contractor,  (riding  up  with  the  virtuous  deprecation  of 
a  mediator,  and  a  cunningly  feigned  and  slightly  contempt- 
uous magnanimity,)  "I'd  rather  give  you  the  steer,  sir, 
than  quarrel  about  him  this  way." 

George,  (  pretty  tartly,)  "  Thank  you,  sir.  I  buy  all  my 
cattle." 

Henry,  ( gesturing  frantically,  and  spurring  toward  the 
man,)  "  Cut  him  out,  will  you!  D'ye  hear,  you  fool?" 
As  the  herdsman  does  not  start,  Henry  rides  furiously 
upon  him,  whereupon  the  herdsman  quickly  pulls  out  his 
revolver.  At  this,  the  blustering  coward  wheels  his  horse, 
which,  with  a  Texan  instinct,  rears  backward  almost  upon 
his  haunches,  as  if  knowing  well  what  a  revolver  means 
in  New  Mexico.  Both  horses  make  a  pirouette,  flinging 
the  sand  in  the  air.  The  herdsman  gives  a  fiendish  yell. 
Henry  spurs  for  dear  life  and  bends  low  over  the  pommel 
of  his  saddle  while  the  herdsman  follows  hard  after,  click- 
ing his  revolver.  The  desert  rings  with  laughter.  They 
dash  through  the  smaller  herd,  and  scatter  it  to  the  four 
winds.  "When  the  herdsman  has  chased  him  long  enough 
for  his  amusement,  he  wheels  and  returns.  The  other,  as 
soon  as  that  wicked  revolver  is  out  of  sight,  also  comes 
back,  much  crest-fallen.  The  division  proceeds. 

We  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  at  the  lower  end  of  the  ter- 
rible Jaruada  del  Muerto.  The  river  here  bowls  with 
great  violence  against  a  low  rocky  bluff,  then  turns  away 
in  a  broad  and  quiet  stream.  In  this  bluff  there  is  a  singu- 


ACROSS  THE  RIO  GRANDE— A  SERENADE.  175 

lar  crevasse  or  shute,  sloping  to  the  water's  edge ;  and  in 
this  they  would  put  a  hundred  cattle  at  a  time,  then  run, 
and  wring  their  arms,  and  scare  them  into  the  water. 

When  we  were  encamped  on  the  other  side,  there  came 
another  drove  after  us,  the  herdsman  of  which  ranged 
themselves  along  the  bank  below  the  chute,  with  revolvers, 
to  prevent  the  cattle  from  swimming  back.  They  fired 
broadside  after  broadside  into  the  water  among  them,  and 
the  bullets  ricocheted  right  among  our  tents  with  a  diabol- 
ical screech.  I  suddenly  had  occasion  to  examine  a  minute 
flower  close  to  the  ground,  but  our  Texans  stood  about  and 
never  winked.  At  last  one  of  them,  an  odd  blunt  genius, 
went  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  drew  his  revolver,  and  fired 
a  ball  into  the  water  so  that  it  howled  among  the  offenders 
on  the  other  side.  With  a  perfectly  unmoved  countenance, 
he  called  to  them ; — 

"  You  didn't  hear  nothin'  over  thar  ?  Now,  when  you 
want  to  do  yer  seranadin ',  do  it  when  you  orter,  at  night." 

Forgetting  that  the  river  was  now  between  us  and  the 
fort,  we  slept,  as  usual,  without  guards,  and  somebody  stole 
nineteen  horses,  untying  some  halters  from  the  very  wagons 
men  were  sleeping  under.  It  was  believed  that  the  Apaches 
did  it;  but  it  was  not  Apaches  who  ate  our  roast  beef,  for 
they  only  carried  the  spider  away  a  rod  or  so,  and  there 
were  unmistakable  indications  of  tobacco-chewers  around 
it  on  the  ground.  Whatever  crimes  the  savages  may  do, 
in  their  natural  state  they  do  not  chew  tobacco. 

The  mountains  above  the  ferry  are  reddish  with  jasper 
conglomerate.  We  passed  out  through  a  mighty  gorge  of 
linten-gray.  As  we  went  farther  out,  the  walls  grew  darker, 
and  the  clouds  began  to  lower  ominously.  Then  there 
burst  upon  us  an  awful  tempest  of  wind  and  rain,  wrapping 
us  in  Memphian  and  appalling  blackness,  so  that  in  the 
very  noonday  we  stood  in  darkness,  and  heard  the  moun- 


176  THE  PICTURE-GALLERIES  OF  NEW  MEXICO. 

tains  roar,  and  the  rain  seeth  and  hiss,  and  the  waters  rage 
in  the  gullies. 

We  passed  up  now  into  the  picture-galleries  of  New 
Mexico,  which  I  shall  never  forget.  As  they  remove  all 
things  whatsoever  from  a  room  in  the  Vatican,  and  hang 
in  it,  alone  in  their  matchless  beauty,  the  master-pieces  of 
Raphael  and  Domenichino,  so  Nature  clears  these  her  gal- 
leries of  all  wheat,  and  corn,  and  trees,  to  paint  upon  the 
hills  her  peerless  frescoes.  Morning  and  evening  and  at 
noon,  with  varying  shades  more  delicate  than  Correggio's, 
she  plies  her  "  sweet  and  cunning  hand." 

The  first  morning  after  we  left  the  river,  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  middle  of  an  immense  grassy  plain,  in  a  circle 
of  these  enchanted  hills.  The  reader,  following  my  poor 
descriptions,  will  doubtless  weary,  but  I  beg  him  to  have 
patience  with  me,  while  I  attempt  to  enumerate  some  of 
these  colors,  for  my  own  satisfaction,  at  least. 

The  sun  is  an  hour  high  above  the  river  hills,  which 
show  no  color  but  an  intensely  brilliant  azure.  But  on  top 
of  them  floats  a  frill  or  ruffle  of  fog,  which  the  lazy  breeze 
is  rolling  out  round,  like  one  of  those  slubs  of  wool  spun 
by  our  grandmothers,  and  which,  at  the  end  of  the  sierra, 
it  twists  off  in  handfuls,  which  seem  to  be  no  common  fog, 
but,  in  this  wonderful  sunlight,  globes  of  molten  silver. 

Farther  round  toward  the  south  the  hills  straggle  apart, 
and  swoon  away  in  the  far  dimness.  Only  a  few  tops  of 
peaks  are  visible  above  the  plain,  as  when,  from  a  steady 
deck,  one  beholds  the  billows  rolling  on  the  uttermost  rirn 
of  the  Atlantic,  against  a  beautiful  sky. 

Still  farther  round  there  stand  twin  pinnacles  alone, 
reaching  a  little  higher  above  the  plain.  The  sun  bathes 
them  in  a  soft  dove-color.  Another  summit  stands  quite 
alone,  in  the  mellowest  and  most  tender  lilac. 

Yonder  is  a  long,  grim  looking  fortress,  with  a  brown 


A  BEAUTIFUL  LANDSCAPE  PICTURE.  177 

ledge  for  its  parapet  wall.  Its  sloping  scarp  is  covered, 
like  the  plain,  with  leaden  grama  grass,  on  which  the  rainy 
season  has  just  combed  up  a  nap  of  tender  green. 

Toward  the  southwest,  and  nearer  to  us,  is  a  chain  of 
separate  hills,  round  as  Scioto  mounds,  and  every  one  abso- 
lutely faultless,  smooth  and  clean  as  a  shaven  lawn.  No 
hills  in  vulgar  atmospheres  shine  like  these,  as  the  sun  and 
the  clouds  skim  over  them,  in  their  pretty  races.  The 
greenest  ripen  with  a  sudden  blush  of  gold,  like  a  half- 
turned  orange  on  the  banks  of  the  sunny  Opelousas  ;  one 
that  is  paler  green  mellows  in  the  sunlight  like  a  jenneting, 
almost  ripe. 

Far  away  to  the  west,  through  a  gap,  a  low  hill  seems  to 
be  vomiting  up  the  solar  spectrum.  No,  it  is  one  of  those 
colored  fountains,  which  they  know  how  to  make  so  fairy- 
like  in  Berlin.  But  see,  there  go  up  smoke  and  mist,  and 
all  the  heavens  above  and  around  it  are  muffled  in  thick 
darkness,  as  of  showers  of  ashes  and  lava.  It  is  Vesuvius. 
No,  it  is  only  the  end  of  this  morning's  rainbow  grown  fast 
there,  and  broken  off.  It  seems  almost  a  demonstration  of 
the  Pythagorean  theory,  as  expounded  by  Ovid,  that  earth 
melts  into  mist,  and  mist  into  flame. 

North  of  the  gap  there  is  a  long  hill,  which  looks  like  a 
red-tiled  roof,  grown  green  with  mold,  and  smirched  with 
clumps  of  moss. 

Quite  near  us  is  an  enormous  rugged  hill.  Up  its  lower 
slopes  the  dull  grass  of  the  plain  creeps  with  imperceptible 
steps  of  shades ;  from  the  leaden-green  to  the  gray  of  pop- 
lin, which  a  flaw  ruffles  with  a  sudden  shiver  of  silver ;  then 
to  a  fine  russet ;  an  indescribably  rich  golden-russet ;  ugly 
linten;  then  a  light  indigo,  tinged  with  purple.  The 
majestic  turret  towers  a  thousand  feet  above  the  plain,  in 
that  soft  rich  brown  I  have  seen  in  Perugino's  pictures,  in 
which,  however  innocent  and  doll-like  may  be  his  figures, 
8* 


178  CURIOUS  APACHE  SUPERSTITION. 

our  eyes  are  sated  with  a  quiet  richness  never  surpassed  by 
the  moderns. 

Ah !  how  shall  I  describe  the  dear  delight  and  intoxica- 
tion that  came  over  my  eyes,  as  they  gazed  upon  this 
wreath  of  hills,  painted  only  with  simple  stones,  and  grass, 
and  sunbeams  ?  Pitiful  were  his  soul  who  would  think  an 
evil  thought  here ;  pitiful  as  that  of  Bunyan's  man,  who 
kept  on  raking  with  his  muck-rake  when  the  angel  offered 
him  a  shining  crown. 

At  Cook's  Canyon  we  had  a  singular  illustration  of 
Apache  character.  In  this  pass,  which  is  a  decidedly  ugly 
one,  a  horde  of  these  savages  secreted  themselves,  a  few 
days  before  we  arrived,  and  pounced  upon  an  emigrant 
train,  which  they  thought  they  were  strong  enough  to 
murder — for  the  dastardly  villains  will  never  attack,  unless 
they  are  ten  to  one — but  the  Texans  valorously  stood  their 
ground,  and  the  Apaches  finally  ran  away,  howling  lus- 
tily. As  usual  with  them,  they  left  their  dead  behind. 
The  consequence  was  that  we  were  perfectly  safe,  and  all 
trains  coming  after  us  would  be,  till  sometime  late  in  that 
following  autumn. 

Can  the  reader  imagine  why  ?  It  was  not  so  much  be- 
cause they  had  been  beaten  there,  as  it  was  because  the 
superstitious  Apache  will  not  fight  again  in  a  place  where 
one  of  his  tribe  has  been  killed,  until  the  grass  grows  again. 

It  is  a  curious  superstition.  Lucan  says  the  Druids  be- 
lieved that  the  soul  of  the  fallen  warrior  straightway  entered 
the  body  of  one  of  his  comrades,  there  to  renew  the  fight, 
which  would  be  thoroughly  characteristic  of  ihefuria  Cel- 
tica,  at  least ;  but  the  Apache  seems  to  think  the  soul  of 
the  dead  man  climbs  into  some  body  that  hasn't  been  hurt 
yet,  and  runs  away  as  fast  as  Satan  will  let  him.  Or  does 
the  Apache,  in  his  immeasurable  haughtiness,  believe  that 
he,  being  a  son  of  Nature,  is  protected  or  deserted,  as  the 


THE  MIRAGE.  179 

case  may  be,  by  some  genius  loci ;  and  that  his  defeat  in 
the  place  is  a  token  of  its  displeasure,  which  he  must  wait 
for  the  growing  grass  to  signify  has  become  appeased  ?  I 
don't  suppose  he  troubles  himself  much  with  any  such 
philosophy. 

In  coming  up  from  the  Rio  Grande,  we  crossed  a  succes- 
sion of  noble  tables,  barred  like  a  griddle  with  low  parallel 
Cordilleras.  Generally  the  wagons  rolled  right  through  on 
a  grassy  isthmus  of  plain,  but  there  are  a  few  savage 
gorges,  bristling  with  agave,  and  the  trenchant  bear-grass, 
and  palmilla. 

On  one  of  these  broad  plains  we  passed  an  immense  and 
beautiful  lake  of  mirage,  the  most  wonderful  I  ever  beheld. 
Near  us  it  had  the  grayish-brown  and  watery  glimmer 
of  ice,  and  the  stout  trunks  of  palmilla  looked  like  soldiers, 
with  their  muskets  at  a  shoulder,  frozen  to  their  knees  in 
the  ice-field.  Far  out  in  it  were  some  knolls  like  islands, 
and  there  the  tiny  billows,  in  the  purple  and  argent  sheen 
of  the  sunlight,  wimpled  in  lazy  races  along  the  utter- 
most edge  of  that  delusive  nothingness,  dancing  against 
the  sky,  and  tumbled,  wantonly  dallying,  on  the  bosom  of 
hyacinthine,  imaginary  sands.  O,  that  I  had  wings  like 
yon  swallow,  that  I  might  fly  away  to  those  Happy  Isles, 
those— 

"Far-off  isles  enchanted 
Heaven  has  planted 
With  the  golden  fruit  of  Truth ;" 

or  a  ship  like  the  Argo,  that  I  might  sail  in  quest  of  their 
purple  shores !  There  might  we  learn  of  our  hereafter ; 
might  hear  what  Minos  heard  when  he  talked  with  Jove, 
and  see  what  Tantalus  saw  in  the  circle  of  the  immortal 
gods. 

On  each  of  these  plains,  as  we  mounted  slowly  up,  the 
grass  grew  thinner  and  more  meager,  and  the  last  one  be- 
fore we  reached  the  valley  of  the  Mimbres  has  uothinc;  but 


180  A  MEXICAN  FANDANGO. 

bushes.  It  is  the  cockloft,  where  good  Mother  Nature 
keeps  her  dried  herbs.  In  the  freshness  of  the  dewy  morn- 
ing there  came  up  a  sweet  savor  from  the  bergamot-bush, 
and  from  some  invisible  source  a  most  exquisite  perfume 
like  sassafras. 

For  the  valley  of  the  Mimbres  let  the  reader  conceive 
of  a  book  of  prairie,  opened  out  nearly  flat,  with  a  book- 
mark of  willows  and  cotton  woods  reaching  down  to  the 
middle.  It  lies  under  the  shadow  of  majestic  green  and 
piney  mountains,  worthy  of  Yermont.  Out  of  these  issues 
the  Mimbres,  a  stout  and  noisy  creek,  wonderfully  pure, 
cold,  and  clear,  and  rattles  down  a  matter  of  a  dozen  miles, 
and  then  perishes  in  these  remorseless  plains. 

In  the  village  of  Rio  Mimbres  we  went  to  a  wretched 
jumping  jig,  which  they  called  a  fandango,  wherein  black- 
eyed  maidens  with  scarlet  sashes,  and  gaudy  ruffians  with 
their  pistol-buts  glinting  in  the  yellow  candle-light,  skipped 
about  in  a  low  room.  The  guitar  seemed  to  have  the  quin- 
sy. The  women  sat  around  the  room  on  benches,  and  if  you 
wanted  a  partner  you  only  had  to  step  out  on  the  floor  and 
wink  at  one  of  them.  There  were  none  but  Mexican 
women  present,  but  there  were  only  two  or  three  of  the  vil- 
est sort  of  Mexican  men  about,  and  even  these  appeared  to 
regard  the  matter  with  contempt,  and  took  no  part  in  the 
dancing. 

Ah !  Brother  Jonathan  and  Mr.  John  Bull,  what  be- 
comes of  your  proud  theory  of  the  "  extirpating  Saxon  " 
in  these  frontier  villages  ?  Whose  language  do  these  little 
mongrel  jackanapes,  these  young  Mexican  Partheniae, 
speak — yours,  or  that  of  the  renowned  Sancho  Panza? 
Perhaps  you  don't  understand  bad  Spanish.  Do  these 
poor  Mexican  girls  learn  English  ?  or  da  their  paramours 
rather  learn  Spanish  \  It  is  wonderful  how  the  language 
of  those  grand  old  hidalgos,  even  when  spoken  by  these 


AN  ENCHANTED  DESERT.  181 

mongrels,  holds  its  own  against  the  sharp  and  thrifty  incur- 
sions of  Americans.  Even  so  is  it  in  Tyrol,  where  the  in- 
dolent and  sunny  children  of  Italy,  though  almost  incom- 
parably inferior  in  moral  stamina  and  intellectual  vigor  to 
the  Germans,  see  their  language  steadily  gaining.  My 
brave  and  "enterprising"  countrymen,  know  you  not  that 
these  wretched  villagers,  living  in  the  Apache's  land,  are 
indebted  for  their  very  existence  to  the  presence  of  less 
than  a  dozen  of  you  ?  and  yet  you  learn  their  language,  and 
not  they  yours ! 

We  journeyed  a  great  many  miles  up  a  sloping  plain,  to 
Cow  Spring,  and  a  long  way  beyond  that  we  entered  a 
mighty  valley,  or  rather  a  slightly  depressed  plain,  running 
east  and  west.  The  watershed  between  the  Gulf  and  the 
Pacific  does  not  consist  of  a  single  ridge,  but  is  nearly  fifty 
miles  broad.  On  both  sides  of  the  watershed  the  mountain 
ranges  run  parallel  north  and  south,  but  the  two  which  in- 
close this  valley  are  hauled  round  at  right  angles  with  the 
others.  Hence  there  is  an  area  fifty  miles  long  and  thirty 
wide,  which  has  no  drainage-  into  either  ocean.  Along  the 
middle  of  this  valley  the  water  settles  in  winter  half  an 
inch  deep  on  hundreds  of  thousands  of  acres,  which  are 
destitute  of  all  vegetation  whatsoever ;  but  when  we  passed, 
these  vast  spaces,  called  playas,  were  solid  and  yellow  as 
beaten  gold,  except  here  and  there,  where  the  nitrous  or 
saline  efflorescence  had  electroplated  them  with  silver. 

A  strange  and  wonderful  sight  it  was,  here  on  the  very 
top  of  the  continent,  to  stand  at  a  distance  and  watch  our 
long  caravan  roll  on  across  this  enchanted  desert,  level  as 
the  sea,  which  at  high  noon-day  was  too  glaringly  bright 
to  gaze  upon. 

My  mess-mates  occasionally  made  themselves  merry  at  my 
expense,  on  account  of  Black  Bell,  the  wench  I  have  spoken 
of  before,  so  called  to  distinguish  her  from  another  Bell, 


182  THE  BELLES  OF  THE  TRAIN. 

the  youthful  belle  of  the  train.  I  would  saunter  on  a  con- 
siderable distance  ahead  of  the  wagons,  profoundly  medi- 
tating on  some  trifles,  totus  in  illis,  or  botanizing,  and  she 
would  tag  along  after  me,  also  botanizing,  to  wit ;  extract- 
ing the  thorns  from  her  flesh.  Poor  thing !  in  this  journey 
she  must  have  pulled  out  about  thirteen  hundred  prickles 
from  her  feet,  for  they  were  so  large  that  they  hit  all  the 
chaparral  within  a  limited  number  of  rods. 

In  all  the  Mexican  villages  we  passed  through  I  read  but 
two  words — yesterday,  tomorrow.  "  Yesterday  we  did  as 
our  forefathers  used  to  do ;  to-morrow  we  will  do  likewise. 
Give  me  another  cigarrito." 

San  Eleazario,  Socorro,  Ysleta,  Las  Cruces,  Dona  Ana, 
Rio  Mimbres — beautiful  and  sonorous  names  are  they  all, 
but  how  much  abject  squalor  and  wretchedness  they  cover ! 
One  vulgar  Texan  Jonesville  is  worth  them  all. 

It  is  amusing  to  observe  the  Mexican  alongside  the  lord- 
ly citizen  of  Texas.  He  is  .generally  about  four  inches 
shorter.  He  wears  shoes,  like  a  slave,  and  not  boots  to 
tuck  his  trowsers  into.  He  does  not  wear  a  revolver  open- 
ly, in  sight  of  all  men,  but  a  sneaking  dagger,  concealed. 
Approach  and  ask  him  questions.  He  does  not  answer 
roundly,  but  with  a  whipped  softness  of  speech,  screwing 
his  face  to  yours  like  a  Neapolitan  commissionaire.  He 
comes  into  camp  and  speaks  Spanish  a  little,  but  keeps  his 
English  ear  open.  He  grins,  and  counts  your  cattle.  Next 
morning  your  favorite  yoke  of  oxen  is  gone,  and  you  raca 
up  and  down  in  the  chaparral  all  the  forenoon,  distracted, 
but  about  noon — remarkable  coincidence  ! — you  meet  that 
same  Mexican.  You  tell  him  your  troubles.  You  wipe 
your  reeking  forehead.  You  excite  his  compassion.  For 
about  five  dollars  he  will  agree  to  search ;  "as  he  knows 
the  country  better  than  you  do,  perhaps  he  might  succeed." 
In  an  hour  he  brings  them.  It  is  wonderful ! 


THE  MEXICAN  OF  THE  BORDER.  183 

All  day  long  he  sits  cross-legged  under  a  cottonwood, 
with  two  melons  and  seven  very  pale  hen's-eggs.  When 
YOU  look  that  way,  he  grins ;  when  you  botanize,  he  brushes 
away  the  mosquitoes. 

Last  night  your  best  horse  was  stolen  by  Mexicans.  O, 
that  is  nothing.  "  Antonio,  come  here.  I  have  lost  my 
horse.  He  was  bright  bay,  had  a  left  fore-foot  white, 
and  roached  mane."  You  show  him  a,  new  gold  eagle ;  he 
nods,  he  understands.  To-morrow  night  he  sleeps  in  the 
same  blanket  with  the  thief,  rises  at  midnight,  sticks  his 
dagger  into  his  heart,  and  brings  your  horse. 

Owing  partly  to  the  scampish  doings  of  many  emigrants 
in  their  gardens,  partly  to  their  repugnance  to  the  caras 
blancas,  they  seldom  liked  to  have  us  encamp  near  their 
houses,  though  they  were  glad  to  have  us  remain  at  a  con- 
venient distance  for  traffic.  Hence  they  invariably  lied  to 
us,  when  they  told  us  the  distance  to  the  next  place,  and  to 
make  their  lies  more  gratuitous  always  added,  when  they 
mentioned  the  number  of  miles,  no  mas  (no  more). 

"  Why  do  you  Mexicans  always  lie  ?"  I  asked  a  clownish 
fellow  with  whom  I  was  talking. 

"  O,  no  senor,"  said  he,  looking  at  me  with  a  dazed  ex- 
pression, as  if  he  were  not  certain  he  had  understood,  "  we 
always  tell  the  truth." 

Now,  I  admire  that  fellow.  He  was  consistent.  The 
Cretan  poet  said  that  all  Cretans  were  liars,  whereby  he 
told  the  truth  for  once,  and  disgraced  his  island  ;  but  this 
poor  fellow  was  consistent  with  himself  and  all  his  country- 
men, for  he  lied  to  the  last. 

I  hope  it  may  not  seem  impertinent  in  a  pedestrian  to 
speak  his  little  piece,  in  the  very  old  and  stale  debate  on 
Mexican  annexation. 

Firstly,  I  think  we  had  better  not  go  down  into  that 
country,  lest  we  might  be  assassinated.  The  Mexicans  are 


184  SHALL  WE  ANNEX  MEXICO  ? 

not  to  be  blamed  for  this  proverbial  tendency  of  theirs, 
because  it  comes  from  the  atmosphere,  as  may  be  abundant- 
ly proven  by  the  fact  that  an  American,  residing  below 
the  northern  cactus  line,  in  the  second  generation  issues  a 
pronunciamiento  quarterly,  and  in  the  third  generation  has 
an  irresistible  inclination  to  dirk  an  alcalde.  But  the  ef- 
fects of  this  tendency  are  very  injurious,  nevertheless,  how- 
ever innocent  may  be  its  origin ;  and  the  fewer  victims  we 
expose  to  its  action,  the  more  humanity  will  be  benefited. 
In  one  of  Bismarck's  private  letters  he  uses  this  expres- 
sion ;  "  I  am  grateful  to  God  for  every  tie  that  binds  me 
closer  to  myself."  Whatever  we  may  think  of  that  senti- 
ment for  an  individual,  for  a  nation,  and  above  all  for  a  re- 
public so  vast  and  embracing  so  many  races  as  does  ours,  it 
is  supreme  wisdom.  It  is  the  secret  of  strength.  Can  any 
man  in  the  possession  of  a  modicum  of  sense  believe  that 
the  addition  of  Mexico  will  add  anything  to  our  strength, 
to  our  riches,  or  to  any  desirable  element  whatever  ?  What 
is  Mexico  ?  It  is  the  religion  and  laws  of  Spain,  which  in 
the  eye  of  civilization  and  for  the  great  uses  of  God  are 
the  most  worthless  of  Christian  Europe ;  and  the  nature 
and  vices  of  the  Aztecs,  which  were  the  most  contemptible 
of  heathen  America.  As  a  clever  writer  says,  it  is  "  a  sla- 
very which  is  of  the  Church,  and  a  liberty  which  is  of  the 
Devil."  The  sole  redeeming  thing  in  this  medley  of  all 
that  was  worst  in  two  continents  was  the  old  Spanish  valor. 
But  what  was  that  worth  when  it  had  been  corrupted 
through  a  few  generations  with  Aztec  blood  ?  When  Mex- 
ico revolted  at  last,  and  became  independent,  all  the  Span- 
iards within  her  borders  made  haste  to  declare  themselves 
the  sons  of  Montezuma.  In  that  sublime  hour  when  the 
Declaration  was  proclaimed  by  the  Fathers,  what  English- 
man bethought  himself  to  claim  the  lineage  and  heirship 
of  Powhatan  ? 


THE  BLUEBEARD  OF  NATIONS.  185 

Mexico  has  the  fatal  gift  of  beauty.  It  is  no  superstition 
to  recognize  and  start  back  before  the  strange  and  dark  fa- 
tality which  invests  that  weirdly  beautiful  but  unhappy 
country.  There  is  not  on  all  the  earth  another  land  which 
has  become  the  grave  of  so  many  empires  of  conquest  and 
ambition.  Mexico  is  the  ancient  Bluebeard  of  nations,  in 
whose  gorgeous  palaces  have  ignominiously  perished  all 
brides  who  have  wedded  themselves  to  its  inexorable  genius 
of  annihilation. 

Second,  as  to  the  Mexicans  themselves.  In  the  first  place, 
of  all  things  which  are  certain  in  American  affairs,  the  most 
certain  is  that  the  Mexicans  do  not  desire  us  as  masters. 
The  only  thing  which  could  possibly  reconcile  them  to  our 
rule  would  be  the  retention  of  Mexican  officials  throughout, 
in  which  case  they  would  be  no  better  governed  than  before. 
But  this  is  utterly  improbable.  Nothing  would  do  in  Mex- 
ico but  a  standing  army,  which  would  create  a  government 
infinitely  worse  than  the  natural  and  inherent  anarchy  of 
the  country.  And  then — to  say  nothing  of  the  consistency 
of  one  republic  dominating  vi  et  armis  over  another — of 
all  forms  of  human  government,  a  republic  is  the  most  un- 
suitable for  managing  an  army. 

If,  by  anything  I  have  seen  of  the  Mexicans,  I  have 
earned  the  right  to  say  one  earnest  word  of  advice  to  my 
countrymen,  I  would  say  :  Leave  Mexico,  wholly  and  in 
all  its  parts,  to  its  own  people.  It  will  be  a  most  melan- 
choly and  disgusting  spectacle  to  the  patriot — if  ever  that 
day  should  come — to  see  our  cherished  and  historic  flag 
polluted,  by  being  dragged  through  the  infamous,  bloody, 
and  accursed  politics  of  Mexico. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
UKDEK  GOLDEN  AND  EOSY  SKIES. 

of  the  most  pitiable  things  in  human  nature 
is  the  selfishness  which  it  develops  under  the 
strain  of  miseries  and  lack  of  water.  As  illustrat- 
ing this  point,  a  little  condensed  history  of  our  train  will 
be  in  order,  though  petty  in  itself. 

First,  a  description  of  the  Captain  of  our  train.  He  was 
a  little  stout  man,  with  his  trousers  always  in  his  boots,  and 
a  feeble  smile  eternally  on  his  face.  His  voice  was  soft  and 
pleasant  in  conversation,  and  his  quiet  way  of  moving  about 
and  giving  his  orders  in  small  affairs,  but  for  that  evergreen 
smile,  would  have  impressed  one  with  the  idea  of  latent 
power.  He  had  a  way  of  holding  his  hands  behind  him 
when  he  talked,  and  he  would  continually  rock  forward  on 
his  toes,  then  come  down  heavily  on  his  heels,  and  ever 
grin,  grin,  grin,  and  talk  in  that  feeble  voice,  which  seemed 
half-apologetic  for  his  existence.  At  first  he  was  immense- 
ly popular  in  camp,  partly  because  of  his  renown  as  a  ter- 
rible and  dreaded  partisan  in  the  war  of  rebellion,  partly 
because  of  his  way  of  riding  at  times  with  a  thunderous 
rush,  leaping  in  his  stirrups,  swinging  his  hat  and  whoop- 
ing, as  in  the  old,  glorious  days  when  he  swooped  down 
upon  the  pale  aud  terror-stricken  Yankees  like  the  Blast 
of  the  Desert. 

I  sometimes  thought,  remembering  the  vindictiveness  he 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  OUR  CAPTAIN.  1ST 

was  said  to  have  shown  towards  his  enemies,  and  the  fren- 
zied energy  with  which  he  laid  about  him  in  battle,  that  he 
had  become  partly  demented  by  excitement.  More  than 
that  he  had  a  wife  of  a  surly  and  taciturn  strength  of  char- 
acter, by  whom  he  was  grieviously  hen-pecked.  He  began 
to  become  unpopular  through  several  shabby  actions  he  did 
against  his  men,  and  the  dislike  of  a  few  became  the  secret 
contempt  of  all,  when  it  was  found  that,  if  at  any  time 
matters  came  to  a  desperate  pinch,  and  we  needed  above  all 
things  else  a  sharp  and  quick  authority,  he  degenerated  in- 
to a  conspicuous  booby.  On  such  occasions  he  gave  very 
few  orders,  and  those  were  distinguished  for  their  asinine 
absurdity. 

One  day  it  happened,  that  we  traveled  long  after  nightfall 
in  quest  of  water,  and  encamped  at  last  without  any. 
Orders  were  issued  for  everybody  to  start  "at crack  of 
day;  but  our  cook,  having  had  sense  enough  to  bring 
along  a  supply  of  water,  rose  very  early,  and  quietly  set  to 
work  to  get  breakfast.  In  due  time  the  Captain  rose  and 
went  about  camp,  as  usual,  roaring  out,  "  Eouse  up,  boys, 
rouse  up,  rouse  up !"  Then  he  came  and  squatted  down  by 
our  fire,  warmed  and  rubbed  his  hands,  washing  them  in 
"  imperceptible  water,"  grinned,  talked,  and  looked  occa- 
sionally with  great  confidence  and  comfort  at  our  coffee-pot. 
But  matters  had  already  come  to  such  a  pass  that  Tom  did 
not  invite  him  to  take  a  cup,  as  he  had  often  done. 

Before  we  were  through  breakfast,  all  the  Captain's  fam- 
ily were  up,  and  grouped  about,  gazing  with  envious  eyes 
toward  our  cheery  fire,  while  the  wind  pro vokingly  wafted 
the  savory  aroma  of  our  coffee-pot  straight  towards  them. 
From  the  number  of  cuffs  she  bestowed  on  little  Sterling, 

o' 

it  was  evident  the  Mistress  Captain  was  deeply  chagrined, 
and  would  punish  us  at  the  first  opportunity  for  having 
been  so  presumptuous  as  to  have  water  when  they  had  none. 


188  A  FAMILY  PLOT— DOUBTFUL  CAXYOX. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait.  Again  it  happened  that  we 
were  obliged  to  make  a  dry  camp  after  nightfall.  Strict 
orders  were  promulgated  that  every  wagon  should  be  on 
the  road  at  daybreak.  San  Antonio  had  water,  as  usual, 
but  it  was  only  five  miles  to  the  well,  so  he  prepared  to 
obey  with  the  others.  But  next  morning  ever  watchful 
Dave,  with  his  Indian  ear,  noticed  an  unusual  stir  around 
the  marquee,  at  head-quarters,  and  prowling  about  in  the 
darkness,  he  discovered  the  Captain's  kitchen  in  full  blast, 
both  the  Mistress  Captain,  and  Black  Bell  bestirring  them- 
selves mightily — for  the  old  lady,  when  she  chose  to  be,  was 
a  notable  housewife.  Even  the  charming  Bell  was  up,  and 
had  her  toilet  made — a  thing  never  previously  known  to 
occur  before  breakfast.  It  was  manifestly  a  family  plot. 

At  once  our  cook  dropped  every  thing  else,  and  plunged 
into  the  dough.  We  all  helped  him,  one  starting  the  fire, 
another  slicing  the  beef,  another  grinding  the  coffee  ;  and, 
thanks  to  the  Spartan  simplicity  of  our  kitchen,  we  sat  down 
around  some  very  good  steaks  and  biscuits  only  a  minute 
or  two  after  the  Captain's  family. 

Such  were  some  of  the  petty  and  contemptible  jealousies 
of  emigrant  life.  Of  the  more  disgraceful  outbreaks,  the 
downright  and  profane  janglings,  I  shall  say  nothing. 

We  entered  Arizona  through  the  gateway  of  Doubtful 
Canyon,  the  gatepost  of  which  is  Steen's  Peak.  In  the 
center  of  the  Canyon  there  is  a  vast  circular  chamber, 
gloomily  enclosed  with  sloping  walls  of  galena.  Clumps 
of  bear-grass  dot  the  sombre  hillsides  with  silver,  like  the 
sunbursts  on  fine  old  Mexican  dollars.  Here  and  there  a 
wild  century-plant  sends  its  branching  scape  towering  thir- 
ty feet  in  the  air,  like  a  great -candelabrum — some  of  its 
upright  pods,  like  gas-burners,  still  flickering  (in  August) 
with  hazel-yellow  flames  of  flowers.  On  the  hillsides  are 
bunches  of  tasojo,  like  Pope  Urban' s  budding  wand,  and 


CLIMBIXG  A  MOUNTAIN— BLACK-TAILED  DEER.  189 

small  mountain  cedars,  some  of  which  are  dead,  and  spread 
their  arms  abroad  with  a  strange  spectral  whiteness,  looking 
like  those  silvery  arbores  Dicmce  of  the  chemical  lecture- 
room. 

Sweeping  halfway  round  this  wall,  on  its  summit,  is  a 
majestic  balustrade  of  pale  porphyry,  sometimes  in  blocks 
as  vast  as  a  cathedral.  At  the  ends  of  it  there  stand  up 
two  isolated  columns,  like  mighty  beacons;  one  barely 
spalted  off  the  wall  of  balustrade,  the  other  leaning  threat- 
eningly over,  with  its  huge  head  beetling  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  road.  The  upright  one  I  determined  to  climb, 
in  hope  of  seeing  a  mountain  sheep,  which  is  seen  so  rarely 
that  it  is  the  subject  of  almost  as  much  fable  as  was  the  an- 
cient hippogriff. 

Hundreds  of  feet  I  wriggled  and  twisted  myself  up, 
among  all  manner  of  scratching  things,  till  I  reached  the 
top  of  a  jutting  spur,  where  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
a  black-tailed  deer  which,  probably  had  never  before  seen 
a  human  being.  It  gazed  at  me  with  unmixed  wonder  and 
without  fear,  till  I  approached  within  a  rod.  Then  it  slow- 
ly walked  away  with  a  dainty  and  scornful  strut,  with  its 
neck  very  stiff  and  straight  up,  and  nodding  a  little  at  each 
step,  as  if  to  say,  "  What  a  contemptible  animal  that  is ! 
It  has  no  horns." 

Then  I  commenced  scaling  the  main  shaft  of  rock,  now 
clinging  in  treacherous  niches,  and  now  wedging  myself  up 
in  a  rift  like  a  chimney-sweep.  Near  the  summit,  sure 
enough,  there  was .  the  nest  of  a  mountain  sheep,  cosily 
rounded  in  a  niche  in  the  perpendicular  wall,  and  there 
were  evidences  that  the  animal  had  left  it  only  that  morn- 
ing. But  how  on  earth  did  he  mount  and  descend  ?  Thsre 
were  precipitous  and  solid  steeps  of  rock,  six  feet  high. 
He  could  pitch  down  headforemost,  and  strike  on  his  hard 
little  pate,  as  is  the  popular  fable,  but  how  could  he  ascend  ? 


190  ACROSS  THE  SAN  SIMON  PLAIN-APACHE  PASS. 

When  he  rounds  up  his  little  spine  in  the  morning,  with 
a  long  stretch  and  shiver  of  matutinal  satisfaction,  and  steps 
upon  the  edge  of  his  threshold,  with  his  first  doorstep  hun- 
dreds of  feet  straight  below  him — so  far,  far  below  him 
that  the  sharp  call  of  the  quail  is  barely  audible — and  looks 
out  over  the  infinite  green  plains  of  Arizona,  what  a  regent 
of  pinnacles  is  he !  Egad !  it  were  worth  a  thousand  nights 
in  a  bed  to  sleep  once  where  he  sleeps,  and  see  in  the 
morning  what  he  sees.  To  sleep  within  ten  feet  of  the  top 
of  the  Arizona ! 

Then  I  crawled  up  to  the  summit,  but  it  was  so  very  nar- 
row, and  there  was  such  wind  splitting  upon  it,  that  I  could 
only  lie  across  the  top  on  my  chest.  What  I  saw  in  that 
giddy  moment  is  known  to  the  gods.  I  only  remember  a 
formless  world,  spinning  around  beneath  me  on  an  upright 
axle,  of  which  I  was  momentarily  the  linchpin. 

"When  I  was  descending,  one  of  the  herdsmen,  unaware 
of  my  absence  from  the  train,  and  looking  out  keenly  for 
Apaches,  drew  up  his  Spencer  rifle  and  fired.  The  bullet 
came  up  where  I  was  with  a  long  heart-rending  squeal,  and 
went  spat  against  the  wall  a  few  feet  from  my  head,  while 
the  great  cleft  bellowed  as  with  an  infant  clap  of  thunder. 

We  marched  on  two  days  across  the  San  Simon  plain, 
and  then  entered  the  Apache  Pass.  This  is  the  most  awful 
and  stupendous  piece  of  natural  savagery  on  the  whole 
route,  sombre  with  its'  dark  walls  of  granite,  and  thrusting 
the  uppermost,  black-looking  bushes  into  the  very  faces  of 
the  clouds.  But  it  is  more  sadly  and  more  frightfully 
memorable  for  the  butcheries  that  have  been  perpetrated 
in  its  hellish  caverns  by  the  Apaches.  There  are  many 
hills  in  it,  and  the  ponderous  train  dragged  on  like  a 
wounded  snake,  so  that  the  blackness  of  night  gathered 
down  thick  upon  us  while  we  were  yet  in  the  very  middle 
of  this  "  horror  of  great  darkness  "  and  of  massacre. 


A  NIGHT  OF  TERROR  AND  CONFUSION.  191 

Then  occurred  the  most  disgraceful  exhibitions  of  cow- 
ardice, treachery,  selfishness,  and  imbecility  which  happen- 
ed in  the  whole  journey.  The  last  hill  was  the  mightiest 
of  all,  and  on  it  the  foremost  teams  balked.  Then  the 
vast  herd,  collecting  in  the  rear,  surged  down  in  the  dark- 
ness upon  the  train  in  the  bottom  of  the  gorge,  plunging 
and  crushing  their  weakest  to  death  against  the  ledges, 
while  the  screams  of  frightened  women,  the  yells  of  mad- 
dened teamsters,  and  a  thousand  jangling  clamors  came  up 
from  the  gorge  against  the  great  sombre  cliffs,  and  were 
hurled  back  into  the  seething  abyss.  Where  was  the  Cap- 
tain ?  Ah  !  if  the  Apaches'  savage  eyes  glared  down  upon 
us  in  that  hour  from  some  lofty  eyrie,  what  a  howling  hell 
of  the  fiercest  human  passions  they  beheld  !  If  they  had 
known  their  hour ! 

Wearily,  wearily  the  jaded  teams,  being  doubled,  drag- 
ged the  wagons  up  the  hill,  amid  such  a  rain  of  yells  and 
teamsters'  oaths  as  made  the  place  a  hell  indeed.  As  soon 
as  a  majority  of  them  were  on  the  summit,  they  hurried  on 
with  the  herdsmen  out  of  the  pass,  leaving  the  weaker  por- 
tion in  deadly  peril. 

Neither  was  the  comic  element  lacking.  A  German 
butcher  and  a  negro  were  left  alone  with  a  wagon,  while 
the  driver  went  back  with  the  most  of  the  team  to  assist 
his  neighbor.  Though  greatly  concerned  for  their  personal 
safety,  they  would  not  quit  the  wagon,  for  it  contained 
most  of  their  earthly  substance.  At  last  the  fat  butcher 
had  a  happy  thought. 

"  Cudjoe,"  said  he,  "  I  ties  a  rope  on  de  nigh  ox's  horns, 
and  you  on  toder,  and  we  trive  'em  aheat." 

"  But  dis  hyur  ox  kick,  boss." 

"  Kick  pe  tarn  !  Do  you  want  to  lose  de  hair  off  your 
heat  ?  You  kick  him  den,"  replied  the  other,  striking  the 
air  before  his  face,  as  if  he  were  fighting  a  bumble-bee. 


192  CUD  JOE  AXD  THE  GERMAN. 

He  proceeded  to  tie  a  rope  on  his  ox,  and  the  negro,  in 
much  trepidation  and  alarm,  attempted  to  do  the  same. 
He  approached  very  cautiously,  rolling  his  eyes  in  the 
direction  of  the  brute's  heels,  and  leaning  far  forward  with 
his  hands  stretched  out  toward  his  head.  The  wild  ox 
turned  his  head  around,  and  regarded  these  proceedings 
with  unfeigned  concern,  then  snorted  and  lashed  out  with 
his  hind-leg  furiously,  whereupon,  the  negro  jumped  like  a 
kangaroo. 

"Whoa!" 

His  teeth  were  chattering  so  he  could  scarcely  articulate 
the  word.  Then  the  fat  butcher  tried,  but  succeeded  no 
better.  The  oxen  were  becoming  alarmed  by  such  unusual 
doings,  and  when  the  German  gave  the  word  to  start,  they 
moved  off  with  alacrity.  The  negro  walked  on  the  off 
side,  with  a  club  in  his  hands,  but,  in  watching  the  team, 
he  failed  to  discover  a  stone  there  was  in  the  road,  over 
which  he  stumbled  and  fell  sprawling.  Thereupon  the 
oxen  broke  into  a  gallop,  and  the  last  I  saw  of  them,  they 
were  running  down  the  hill  at  a  great  rate,  with  the  little 
fat  butcher  dangling  at  the  end  of  the  rope. 

Looking  down  from  the  Chihuahua  Mountains,  one  re- 
ceives an  overpowering  impression  of  the  immensity  and 
the  richness  of  Arizona.  O,  the  glory  and  the  beauty  of 
that  fresh,  bright  world  of  grass,  as  I  looked  down  upon  it 
on  that  cloudless  morning !  So  spotless  as  was  the  concave 
of  blue  above,  so  spotless  was  the  concave  of  tender  green 
beneath,  between  those  two  sierras. 

The  next  plain  is  equally  as  vast,  being  more  than  two 
days'  journeys  in  width  ;  but  an  immense  hollow,  hundreds 
of  feet  in  depth  and  many  miles  in  width,  has  been  eaten 
out  along  the  middle  of  it  by  the  San  Pedro.  The  broad 
lands  along  this  stream  are  exceedingly  fertile,  yielding  no- 
ble crops  of  cereals  and  vegetables,  and  will  be,  in  the  fu- 


AX  ARIZOXIAX  APACHE  FIGHTER.  193 

ture,  the  seat  of  a  great  population.  The  formation  of  these 
bottom  lands  is  singular.  They  are  richly  clothed  all  over 
with  grama  grass ;  and  on  both  sides  of  the  river  they  pro- 
ject far  up  into  the  sandy  plain  in  a  series  of  scallops,  con- 
stantly eating  their  way  farther  into  it,  by  caving  down  the 
banks. 

There  was  a  little  colony  a  few  miles  below  the  crossing, 
and  I  went  down  to  it  to  see  one  Seminole  Myers.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  living  in  an  adobe  hut,  in  which  there  was 
a  frying-pan,  a  row  of  Apache  scalps  along  the  wall,  a  pol- 
ished rifle,  a  couple  of  stools,  and  a  goods-box,  metamor- 
phosed into  a  table.  He  had  just  brought  in  an  immense, 
cool,  blood-hearted  melon,  into  which  he  plunged  his  dag- 
ger— he  also  had  two  revolvers  in  his  belt — while  it  cracked 
ahead  of  the  blade,  with  a  crisp  and  rimy  sound,  as  he  cleft 
it  into  halves.  He  was  a  gigantic  fellow,  dressed  entirely 
in  buckskin ;  had  a  pair  of  little  eyes,  as  keen  as  a  hawk's, 
long  black  hair  very  much  toused,  and  an  immense  mass 
of  black  whiskers  and  moustache,  wThich  reminded  me  of 
the  chaparral  in  Apache  Pass. 

He  invited  me  to  sit  down,  and  we  munched  melon  a 
while,  and  talked  of  various  matters.  Then  I  broached 
Indian  affairs. 

"  How  is  the  Indian  business  managed  in  Arizona  ?"  I 
asked. 

"It's  managed  mighty  ornary,  stranger.  Fact,  tain't 
managed  no  way  at  all.  It's  jest  big  dog  eat  little  dog,  and 
save  up  the  fur." 

" But  which  is  the  big  dog?" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  cutting  off  another  slice,  "  don't  be 
bashful,  stranger.  You're  no  friend  of  mine  ef  you  don't 
eat  that  half.  Well,  it  jest  depends.  Now,  I  don't  want 
to  do  no  braggin'  myself,  but  it  kinder  strikes  me  when  the 
blood-colored  devils  gits  after  me,  the  fur  gits  saved  the 


SEMIXOLE  MYERS  OX  IXDAIX  AFFAIRS. 

way  it  orter  be  " — jerking  his  dagger  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  scalps  on  the  wall.  "  But  the  fellers  ranchin'  over  on 
the  Ilassayamp',  an'  roun'  Wickenburg,  an'  thar',  why,  the 
redskins  mostly  lifts  their  har." 

"  What  ails  the  Government  management  in  these  parts, 
that  it  don't  accomplish  more  ?" 

"  Well  now,  stranger,  when  anybody's  goin'  fur  to  do 
anything,  I  like  to  see  'em  do  it.  Now,  the  officers  hyur, 
they  was  a  foolin'  roun'  a  long  time  with  ole  Cochise  thar, 
a  wheedliii'  of  him  an'  a  honeyfugliii'  of  him,  tryin'  to 
make  treaties  or  some  sich,  an'  promised  him  he'd  be  per- 
fectly safe,  an'  last  they  got  him  to  come  in,  an'  go  into  a 
tent.  But  their  eyes  was  into  their  pockets,  like  them  dan- 
dy officers  allers  has  'em,  an'they  never  nabbed  him  at  last. 
The  minit  ole  Cochise  see  thar  was  a  bug  in  the  puddin', 
he  out  with  his  knife,  ripped  a  hole  in  the  tent,  an'  jumped 
out.  I  couldn't  sleep  fur  two  nights,  a  thinkiri'  of  that  'ar 
circumstance.  Lettin'  him  git  away  that  way !"  With 
that  he  drove  his  dagger  half  its  length  into  the  table,  as 
if  it  were  the  escaping  chief. 

"  You  seem  to  think  there  is  no  other  way  to  get  on  with 
the  Indians  but  to  use  force." 

"  If  you're  goin'  to  kill  'em  with  kindness,  you  mout  as 
well  try  to  choke  a  oystrich  to  death  by  stuffin'  melted 
butter  down  its  throat  with  a  peggin'-awl.  It's  plumb 
ridic'lous,  the  way  they  do  out  hyur.  Marchin'  eighteen 
miles  a  day,  with  lobsters,  and  gingerbread  doins,  an'  apple- 
sass  fur  to  eat  onto  it,  in  their  wagons,  to  ketch  'Paches  as 
rides  eighty  miles  a  day,  and  thinks  nuffin'  of  it !  An'  these 
hyur  little  caliker  popinjays  from  New  York — a  marchin' 
rigged  up  in  paper  collars,  and  blackin'  onto  their  shoes — 
this  hyur  kind  that's  got  the  rooster  onto  the  kiver — to 
ketch  them  bloody  devils !  Thar  aint  no  use  doin'  nuthin' 
'less  you  take  along  men  as  kin  live  on  dry  beef  an'  a  little 


AN  APACHE  MASSACRE— WAYSIDE  INSCRIPTION.        195 

sack  of  pinole,  an'  every  man  take  his  Injun,  and  ride  till 
he  fetches  him,  or  else  rides  his  own  hoase's  tail  off  of  him. 
All  these  hyur  foolins  an'  straps  the  cavalry  has  is  no  'count 
an'  wuss  nor  riuthin'.  You  caan't  ketch  no  'Pache  with  a 
hoss  that's  got  a  hit  onto  both  ends  of  him." 

After  some  further  conversation  I  departed,  but  he  would 
by  no  means  let  me  go  till  he  laid  a  ponderous  melon  on 
my  shoulder. 

When  we  left  the  vast  plain  of  the  San  Pedro,  we  passed 
through  a  gap  so  broad  that  an  army  might  march  through 
it  abreast,  and  entered  upon  the  great  Tucson  desert.  This 
desert  is  some  thirty  miles  wide,  and  runs  up  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  northwestward,  between  two  parallel  sierras, 
to  the  Gila.  Three  thousand  square  miles  of  detestable 
chapparal  desert — that  is  the  country  which  the  metropolis, 
Tucson,  has  for  its  immediate  vicinage.  The  little  Cienaga 
runs  diagonally  across  the  eastern  corner  of  it,  and  gradu- 
ally burrows  deeper  and  deeper  below  the  level  of  the 
ground,  till  it  sinks  and  disappears. 

Farther  down  the  creek  brawls  through  a  narrow  sluice 
like  a  railroad  cut,  with  steep  walls  which  look  like  copperas  • 
and  here  the  road  winds  along  amid  jungles  of  mighty  sun- 
flowers, beneath  aspens  and  cottonwoods  which  stretch 
across  from  wall  to  wall.  What  is  this  written  on  this 
board  \  An  Apache  massacre  ?  Thirty-nine  negro  soldiers 
horribly  butchered  in  one  hour  by  the  bloody  barbarians  ! 
Who  can  help  looking  a  little  nervously  about  him,  and 
peering  sharply  into  the  sunflowers?  Ah  !  how  stupid  and 
cruel  a  thing  it  was  to  send  those  "  blameless  Ethiopians," 
those  simple,  music-loving,  rollicking,  loamy-headed  sons 
of  Ham  out  here,  to  hunt  on  foot  the  wily  and  treacherous 
Apache,  who,  mounted  on  his  fleet  mustang,  defies  pursuit 
like  the  will-o-the-wisp,  and  in  five  minutes  so  secretes 
himself  in  the  grass  that  none  but  another  Apache  can  un- 
earth him. 


196  DEMORALIZED  CONDITION  OF  THE  CARAVAN. 

Between  this  defile  and  yon  mountains  there  stretches  a 
broad  plain,  as  of  copperas  or  verdigris,  as  if  a  mighty, 
green  sea  had  been  frozen  stiff,  when  it  was  beating  and 
chopping  its  waves  up  small.  Nothing  lives  out  there  but 
the  solemn  pitahaya,  the  lonely  Sentinel  of  the  desert, 
sucking  the  pitiless  rocks  with  its  roots,  and  nourishing  its 
great  sappy  core  of  coolness  in  this  torrid  blaze,  without  a 
sprig,  without  a  leaf,  without  a  flower.  How  the  sun  fierce- 
ly shakes  those  naked  mountains  in  his  hands  !  They  have 
bowels  of  cool  silver,  but  their  brows  are  hot  and  haggard. 
Their  foreheads  are  freckled  with  oxides.  They  have  that 
singular,  silver-leaden,  drossy  appearance  one  sees  often  in 
the  argentiferous  galena  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona. 

In  traversing  the  hideous  chaparral,  just  before  we  reach- 
ed Tucson,  it  occurred  to  me  to  compare  the  train  with 
what  it  was  when  we  "set  out,  so  great  and  so  stout-hearted, 
from  the  Texan  prairies. 

Nearly  all  the  oxen  with  which  we  started  dead,  and 
their  places  partly  filled  by  the  unhappy  cows ;  more  than 
half  of  the  horses  dead  or  stolen ;  many  a  man  down  on 
shank's  mare,  with  his  big  toes  looking  out  of  his  shoes  to 
see  how  much  farther  it  was — I  was  having  my  gay  revenges 
now ;  the  wagons  all  streaked  with  grease ;  the  women 
"  looking  like  frights,7'  as  they  said,  often  walking  to  rest 
the  poor  cows  a  little,  with  their  back  hair  down,  and  gowns 
as  limp  as  the  ghost  of  Mrs.  Gamp  in  the  second-hand 
clothing  stores;  the  bacon  all  gone  from  the  wagon-tails, 
and  nothing  but  "  petered  "  beef,  fried  in  flour  and  water. 

But  the  most  pitiable  spectacle  of  all  was  the  daily 
diminishing  herd.  One  of  the  owners  had  been  so  unwise 
as  to  start  with  a  large  number  of  young  cattle,  and  all  of 
these  that  were  yet  alive  were  now  massed  in  the  rear  of 
the  herd,  wabbling  slowly  along,  often  compelling  the 
herdsmen  to  dismount  to  keep  them  moving. 


GRAND  ENTRANCE  INTO  TUCSON.  197 

Sucli  was  the  ragged,  scarecrow  and  shirtless  caravan 
that  made  a  desperate  and  famishing  stampede  through  the 
chaparral  upon  the  ragged,  scarecrow  and  shirtless  city  of 
Tucson. 

Arriving  in  advance  of  the  train,  I  procured  some  water 
from  a  Mexican  woman,  and  then  went  out  to  our  camping- 
ground,  about  a  mile  south  of  Tucson,  to  witness  at  leisure 
the  magnificent  entry  of  the  Legion  of  the  Flying  Shirt. 

From  the  top  of  Pitahaya  Hill  I  beheld  it  to  my  satis- 
faction. Eight  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  the  little  Santa  Cruz, 
which  one  can  leap  across,  runs  along,  its  beautiful  waters 
purling,  and  bubbling,  aud  gurgling  amid  the  grass.  Into 
this  surged,  and  scrambled,  and  crowded,  and  pushed,  and 
tumbled  the  thirsty  multitude,  men,  mules,  cattle,  women, 
horses,  drinking  till  they  sensibly  lowered  the  water  supply 
of  Tucson. 

The  Santa  Cruz  draws  a  streak  of  bright  green,  half-a- 
mile  wide,  diagonally  across  the  desert  parallelogram  I  have 
mentioned ;  and,  half  on  the  green,  half  on  the  desert,  is 
Tucson,  without  a  tree  in  its  streets,  a  wretched  huddle  of 
mud-houses,  looking  like  children's  works,  all  flattened  atop 
as  with  a  board.  Away  to  the  north,  directly  beyond  the 
city,  the  Santa  Catharina  Mountains  are  scarped  into  forms 
which  shame  the  miserable  mud-builders.  There  is  a  ma- 
jestic reach  of  a  city  wall,  with  its  nodes  of  battlemented 
turrets ;  a  noble  cathedral,  roofed  with  red  tiles,  with  one 
of  its  towers  half  complete,  like  the  Franenkirche  of  Mu- 
nich ;  and  farther  along,  a  cluster  of  white  bowlders  high 
on  the  mountains,  looking  so  much  like  roofs  and  spires 
that  the  children  of  the  train  were  readily  induced  to  be- 
lieve it  was  Tucson,  long  before  we  were  in  sight  of  that 
metropolis. 

I  lingered  on  this  little  hill,  and  beheld  the  most  impos- 
ing and  gorgeous  sunset  of  my  recollection,  one  of  those 


198  FATE  OF  EARLY  TUCSON  PIONEERS. 

poems  of  earth  which  readers  will  not  suffer  themselves  to 
be  troubled  with,  more  eloquent  of  God  than  all  preach- 
ments of  puny  men,  and  which  always  fill  me  with  an  in- 
expressibly sweet  and  pensive  melancholy,  till  the  tears 
come  into  my  eyes  and  fall.  As  the  sun  was  setting,  the 
moon  came  up  in  the  opposite  quarter,  and  then  the  whole 
heavens  were  barred  with  brilliant  streaks  of  alternate  in- 
digo and  crimson,  which  spanned  magnificently  across,  in 
undiminished  splendor,  from  the  eastern  to  the  western 
horizon.  Sitting  there  on  the  summit  of  that  pretty,  taper 
cone  till  the  darkness  began  to  fall,  I  seemed  to  see,  in  the 
dwarfed  pitahayas,  a  thousand  soldiers  straggling  up  to 
storm  its  heights. 

"While  we  were  encamped  near  this  delectable  city  of 
Tucson,  one  John  Hagerman  died  of  a  fever,  and  was  buri- 
ed. It  was  said  he  was  the  second  American  who  had  ever 
died  in  that  city  with  his  trousers  off.  Mr.  W.  E.  Denni- 
sori,  who  was  killed  by  the  Apaches,  was  nearly  the  last  man 
left  of  a  colony  of  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  pioneers  who 
settled  at  Tucson  in  1857.  Almost  all  the  others  had 
fallen,  sooner  or  later,  at  the  hand  of  the  relentless 
Apache. 

A  few  miles  south  of  Tucson  the  cathedral  of  San 
Xavier  del  Bac  looms  so  strangely  great  and  lonesome  in 
the  midst  of  this  barbarous  wilderness.  All  travelers 
whose  accounts  I  have  read  mention  it  only  in  terms  of 
praise,  apparently  because  it  seemed  the  proper  thing  to 
do,  since  it  really  is  a  wonderful  edifice  in  a  desert.  But 
intrinsically — after  all  allowance  is  made  for  its  unfinished 
tower — it  is  nothing  but  a  great,  heavy,  sleepy,  Spanish 
Dumb  Ox. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  nothing  more  touching  in 
history  than  the  constancy  with  which  those  poor  Papagos 
— deserted  by  the  fathers,  swept  by  the  nomadic  Apaches 


THE  CHAPARRAL  CITY  OF  THE  UXIOX.  J,yg 

witli  a  hellish  and  relentless  persecution,  preyed  upon  by 
the  sneaking  and  sponging  Mexicans — have  defended  its 
venerated  walls,  dwelling  harmlessly  beside  its  base,  and 
looking  up  to  it  as  the  oracle  and  vestibule  of  Heaven. 
What  a  lesson  of  religion,  of  simple  and  childlike  faith, 
and  of  devotion  might  this  tribe  read  the  proud  paleface  ! 

Tucson  is  the  Chaparral  City  of  the  Union.  The  pay- 
sano's  humdrum  cluck,  like  the  chuckle  of  water  from  a 
bung-hole,  is  heard  almost  in  its  suburbs  ;  the  jackass  rabbit, 
which  here  is  white,  throws  up  its  heels  at  night,  before 
the  doors  of  merchandise ;  and  the  legislative  and  judicial 
linen  is  hung  to  dry  on  the  chaparral  in  the  back-yard 

I  have  described  enough  Mexican  towns,  with  their  low 
walls  of  houses  which  you  might  smite  with  a  maul  any- 
wiiere  without  breaking  a  window ;  their  sunken  streets, 
full  of  floury  dust  wThich  is  industriously  comminuted  by 
passengers,  loaded  asses,  and  skulking  sneaks  of  dogs,  all 
mingling  together;  and  their  goat-hurdles  in  the  public 
squares.  Toward  the  west,  where  the  city  slopes  easily 
down  to  the  green  creek-bottom — though  they  cannot  spare 
much  of  this  for  municipal  uses,  and  have  economically 
used  the  chaparral  for  that  purpose — there  are  little  flour- 
ishing corn-fields,  and  gardens,  and  pleasant  crofts,  all 
separated  by  willow  hedges.  Here  under  these  old  cotton- 
woods,  some  swarthy  women  are  on  their  knees,  bareheaded 
in  the  fierce  heat,  with  their  long  raven  hair  trailing  down 
their  necks,  washing  their  clothes  on  the  knarred  roots,  or 
pestling  them  with  clubs  in  the  pools,  or  churning  them 
up  and  down  therein. 

Let  us  push  aside  the  scarlet  door-curtain  which  flaunts 
upon  the  street,  and  enter  the  low,  cool  room,  where  they 
are  playing  three-card  monte.  This  man  in  the  hickory 
shirt,  with  the  collar  opened  like  barn-doors,  top-boots, 
fustian  trousers,  and  wide  California  hat,  sweats  great 


200  LIFE  IX  TUCSOX. 

drops,  but  says  no  word,  as  lie  sees  liis  last  quill  of  dust  go 
over  to  his  adversary.  To-morrow  he  will  return  to  the 
mines  in  Apache  Pass,  without  a  dollar.  The  other, 
cool  and  exquisite  in  Spanish  linen  and  cuffs,  a  gaudy  and 
sumptuous  knave,  will  go  next  month  to  the  Legislature. 

Your  true  American  miner  has  no  opinion  which  is  not 
worth  hard  money,  and  would  feel  himself  grieviously  in- 
sulted by  one  who  should  say, "  A  penny  for  your  thoughts." 
He  will  weigh  you  out  in  a  moment  the  equivalent  of  his 
convictions  in  good  clean  dust.  The  terse  Hudibrastic 
utterance,  "  Fools  for  arguments  use  wagers,"  is  altogether 
too  harsh  and  unjust  toward  the  average  miner  of  America. 
A  fool  will  argue  till  the  morning  stars  grow  dim,  that 
Jones  will  be  elected  president ;  but  the  gruff  gold  digger, 
despising  the  twaddle,  yet  too  proud  too  yield  his  opinion, 
says,  "  Here's  $100  on  Smith."  At  once  the  babbler  is 
stilled,  even  if  he  go  $200  on  Jones.  "  Speech  is  silver, 
silence  is  gold ;"  but  your  miner  adds,  "  Argument  won't 
go  two  cents  to  the  panful." 

All  this  riotous  living,  this  fierce  gambling,  buffoonery, 
staggering  and  beastly  drunkenness,  and  this  unmitigated 
farce  of  military  protection,  are  enacted  in  a  city,  three 
miles  distant  from  which  a  man  hangs  head  downward 
from  a  mesquite,  where  the  Apaches  flayed  him  yesterday, 
and  built  a  fire  beneath  his  head. 

In  the  streets,  soldiers  wander  vacantly  up  and  down, 
with  holes  in  their  elbows  and  the  seats  of  their  breeches, 
but  not  worn  by  riding  after  Apaches.  They  throng  in 
the  saloons,  and  drink  down  warm  cocktails ;  two  of  them 
steady  a  limp-kneed  one  home.  In  the  long  mud-barracks 
some  of  them  are  reading  the  Bible,  more  are  playing  cards, 
betting,  swearing,  yelling  according  to  the  most  approved 
precedents  of  alectoromachy.  In  the  restaurant  you  can 
get  bread  and  molasses,  but  the  flies  devour  it  before  you 


FUNNY  OLD  MEXICANS. 


201 


can.  Gilded  officers  in  the  billiard  rooms  punch  the  balls 
from  morning  to  night,  and  every  day  a  man  is  murdered 
by  the  Apaches,  and  his  blood  dries  up  in  the  desert. 

•  But  these  funny,  old,  round-faced,  ape-whiskered  Mexi- 
cans, living  their  ninety  years  and  nine  on  pancakes,  beans, 
and  red  pepper !  It  takes  three  of  them  to  drive  a  wooden- 
wheeled  cart.  One  walks  before  the  oxen,  with  his  goad 
straight  behind  him,  to  poke  them  in  the  hips ;  another, 
with  his  goad  ready  to  punch  them  on  the  left ;  another, 
to  punch  them  on  the  right.  But  the  Texan,  with  his  rod- 
long  whip,  and  his  grand  and  lazy  stride,  will  guide  his 
six,  eight,  ten  yoke  majestically  through  the  city,  and 
seem  to  be  unconscious  of  its  very  existence. 


CHAPTER  XY. 
CAPTUKED. 

there  be  any  human  discomfort  which  is  not  com- 
prehended in  being  hauled  across  the  continent  by 
grass-fed  oxen  in  fly-time,  I  have  not  rightly  studied 
the  wagons  and  their  inmates.  In  a  great  company  of  emi- 
grants, gathered  from  the  fiercely  independent  and  willful 
South,  there  are  at  best  many  discordant  elements ;  to  which 
add  the  janglings  of  teamsters  and  herdsmen,  the  break- 
downs, the  mirings  in  Serbonian  bogs,  the  sneaking  rains, 
the  starts  and  stops,  the  ox  over  the  chain  and  the  driver 
tugging  at  his  tail  to  haul  him  back,  the  grease  spilled  over 
your  coat,  the  tent  leaking  into  your  ear,  the  dog  taking 
unwarrantable  liberties  with  the  frying-pan. 

Then,  of  all  trains  on  the  road,  ours  was  notoriously  the 
slowest,  for  reasons  previously  indicated  in  part.  Before 
we  had  traveled  a  hundred  miles,  I  was  satisfied  that  the 
principal  reason  why  Texans  emigrate  is  to  exercise  them- 
selves in  the  following  problem :  Given  grass,  wood  and  wa- 
ter,to  find  the  least  amount  of  traveling  that  can  be  done. 

"  Come  to  me,  my  son,  and  let  me  teach  you  Texan 
arithmetic.  No  wood  is  to  no  water  as  no  grass  is  to — 
what?" 

"  No  traveling,  sir." 

"  Wrong.  Traveling  day  and  night.  Try  again.  "No 
grass  multiplied  by  no  water  equals  what  ?" 

"  Dont  know,  sir." 

„  Ah !  stupid  boy !    No  oxen,  of  course  " 


WEARY  OF  CARAVAN  LIFE.  203 

Still  I  staid  with  the  train,  because  I  was  afraid  of  the 
Indians.  But,  as  day  after  day  went  on,  and  we  saw  never 
a  redskin,  a  kind  of  shame  for  my  cowardice  was  added  to 
my  share  of  the  universal  disgust ;  and  in  Tucson  I  deter- 
mined to  venture  on  alone. 

Before  I  left,  the  Nothing-at-Steak  killed  the  fatted  heif- 
er, and  we  eat  together  a  half-way  supper.  Behold  us  now 
squatted  around,  Papago-like,  clasping  our  knees  in  our 
arms  on  the  green  sward,  while  Pitahaya  Hill  flings  over 
us  eastward  its  long  mantle  of  lilac  and  orange  shadows. 
San  Antonio  prepares  the  repast.  He  makes  pancakes. 
Does  he  turn  them  over  with  a  knife  ?  No ;  he  scorns  an 
operation  so  devoid  of  genius,  and,  with  a  dextrous  jerk 
of  the  frying-pan,  he  causes  them  to  ride  aloft,  turn  a  neat 
somersault,  and  descend  upon  their  backs. 

We  have  no  "  rich  puddings  and  big,  and  a  barbecued 
pig ;"  but  we  have  such  a  roast — on  the  plains  a  man  will 
eat  roast  beef  any  time  in  the  day  he  can  get  it,  and  ask  no 
questions  for  conscience's  sake  about  etiquette — such  a  roast 
as  can  be  fattened  by  grama  grass  alone,  tender,  well-brown- 
ed, sweet,  and  juicy  with  yellow  gravy.  The  man  is  my 
friend  who  can  make  such  gravy. 

And  so,  with  a  mellow  pair  of  bottles  of  Cocomango's 
mellowest,  pipes  and  cigars,  and  certain  curious  Papago 
hops,  we  made  a  night  of  it.  I  had  resolved  to  start  at 
night,  to  pass  certain  perilous  points  in  the  darkness,  and 
the  time  was  now  at  hand.  Earnestly  and  unanimously 
they  warned  me,  for  the  last  time,  not  to  make  the  attempt. 
To  all  their  warnings  I  replied,  substantially,  as  follows : — 

"You  remember  that  when  we  left  "Waxahatchie,  we 
were  to  be  shot  at  on  the  Brazos ;  were  certainly  to  be  at- 
tacked on  the  Concho ;  most  of  us  killed  and  scalped  at 
Castle  Gap ;  the  reminder  burnt  alive  in  Olympia  Canyon ; 
in  Apache  Pass  all  dug  up,  killed  over  again  and  our  skins 


2Q4:  RESOLVE  TO  PUSH  AHEAD  ALONE. 

taken  for  drums.  But  what  have  we  seen  ?  Six  of  us  have 
seen  moccasin-tracks ;  one  of  us  saw  a  palma  that  he  thought 
was  a  Camanche ;  one  found  a  moccasin ;  one  dreamed,  af- 
ter eating  too  much  steak,  that  an  Apache  sat  on  his  stom- 
ach. One  night,  when  I  laid  my  head  on  an  ant-hill  in 
the  darkness,  I  dreamed,  first,  that  I  had  the  seven-year 
itch,  next,  that  I  was  scalped.  Nay  more,  my  brave  com- 
rades, at  Fort  Selden  we  saw  a  horse  that  the  Apaches  had 
shot  at — and  missed. 

"  No,  my  valiant  companions,  mighty  to  eat  beef,  you 
and  I  respect  each  other  too  much  to  be  mouthing  these 
old  wives'  fables,  and  trying  to  scare  each  other.  I  know 
each  of  you  would  stand  by  me,  at  the  pinch,  till  he  lost 
the  number  of  his  mess.  You  certainly  know  that  I  also 
would  stand  by  you — if  there  were  a  bush  near  enough — 
taking  notes  as  hard  as  ever'  I  could.  Then  let  us  have 
done  with  this  cowardly  flummery. 

"  And  now  I  give  you  my  parting  benediction :  May 
the  beloved  partners  of  your  bosoms  never  wear  false  hair, 
may  your  little  boys  never  buy  any  whistles,  and  may  no 
cactus  grow  upon  your  graves.  If,  as  you  journey  on,  you 
find  a  little  heap  of  bones  beside  the  road,  for  the  remem- 
brance of  the  good  days  we  have  seen  together  I  pray  you 
sprinkle  over  them  a  handful  of  dust ;  and  on  that  book  of 
memory  wherein  your  comrade's  faults  are  written,  let  a 
little  dust  gather  too." 

Then  we  solemnly  shook  hands  around  our  camp  fire,  and 
there  was  more  than  one  voice  so  husky  it  could  scarcely 
articulate  "  good-bye."  As  I  walked  rapidly  away  into  the 
midnight  darkness,  there  was  probably  not  a  man  in  camp 
who  did  not  pity  me  for  my  folly,  and  believe  that  I  never 
would  see  California  alive,  or  even  the  banks  of  the  Gila. 

From  Tucson  the  Santa  Cruz  runs  nearly  west,  and  goes 
bjbbing  in  and  out,  playing  bo-peep  with  the  outer  world, 


THE  SENTINEL  OF  THE  DESERT.  205 

until  it  takes  a  final  dive.  It  is  supposed  to  run  under  the 
desert  about  ninety  miles,  and  bubble  up  into  the  Gila  at 
Maricopa  Wells.  From  out  its  almost  impenetrable  chap- 
arral many  a  fatal  arrow  has  sped  on  its  winged  flight 
toward  some  unfortunate,  and  I  ran  the  gauntlet  with  bated 
breath. 

In  the  morning  I  found  myself  up  again  on  the  level  of 
the  great  parallelogram,  traversing  a  gigantic  forest  of  pit- 
ahayas,  an  evergreen  colonade,  some  of  them  with  their 
two  arms  opposite,  rounding  gracefully  outward  then  up- 
ward, looking  like  branched  candlesticks.  Wherever  the 
desert  is  barrenest,  and  on  the  mountains,  they  grow. 
They  sentinel  their  very  summits,  standing  out  darkly 
distinct  against  the  mighty  moon  which  looks  like  a  fire 
built  by  these  watchmen,  as  they  were  kindled  by  the 
Greeks  to  telegraph  home  the  news  of  the  fall  of  Troy. 
Ah !  that  we  might  make  ourselves  like  this  pitahaya ! 
In  the  barrenest  wastes  of  life,  if  we  would  only  go  down 
to  the  springs  of  things,  we  might  always  have  in  us  the 
plenteous  sap  of  consolation. 

The  parallel  Santa  Rita  and  Santa  Catharina  Mountains, 
which  border  this  desert,  are  insignificant  in  height ;  but 
they  are  of  a  granitic  porphyry  which,  seen  in  this  magic 
atmosphere,  and  mellowed  by  soft  white-lilac  haze,  is  won- 
derfully beautiful. 

But  I  must  carry  on  my  narrative  to  the  adventure  which 
overtook  me,  and  promised  to  be  rather  serious.  When  I 
left  the  train,  I  brought  along  one  of  my  blankets,  a  cala- 
bash of  pinole,  and  some  manchets  made  of  Arizonian  flour, 
as  yellow  and  almost  as  solid  as  gold.  Arms  had  I  none, 
for,  like  Anacreon,  I  had  no  more  sanguinary  ambition  than 
to  shed  the  blood  of  the  grape.  At  first  the  blanket  was  as 
nothing,  but  under  the  heat  of  an  Arizonian  forenoon  it  be- 
came intolerable  and  I  flung  it  away. 


206  A  LANDMARK— AN  EXHILARATING  SLEEP. 

The  Picacho  was  another  point  of  danger,  which  it  was 
advisable  to  pass  in  the  night.  This  is  a  celebrated  peak 
in  Arizona,  and,  overtopping  all  others,  serves  as  a  landmark 
far  and  wide  on  the  mighty  desert.  It  is  a  vast  clump  of 
rock,  standing  isolated  at  one  end  of  a  cross-range  through 
which  the  road  passes ;  and  looks  much  like  an  unfinished 
church-tower. 

At  night  I  slept  under  the  boughs  of  a  cat-claw,  a  very 
large  and  lordly  sleep,  with  North  America  for  my  bed,  for 
my  pillow  Arizona,  and  for  my  blanket  the  great  blue 
heavens.  Ah  !  it  is  worth  a  century  of  dull,  thick-crammed 
years  to  lie  down  alone  in  a  mighty  land,  and  at  midnight 
look  up  to  the  shining  myriads  of  heaven,  where  they  roam 
in  the  measureless  void !  To  fling  off  one's  airy  counter- 
pane in  the  morning,  to  sit  up  on  one's  bed  and  behold  the 
gorgeous  East,  and  look  face  to  face  at  the  sun,  as  he  too 
rises  in  the  greatness  of  his  glory  from  his  couch  in  the 
mountains — this,  this  is  liberty.  Arizona  is  mine.  Amer- 
ica is  my  house.  The  notched  top  of  the  Picacho  is  my  fen- 
der. The  universal  atmosphere  is  my  chimney.  Bring 
me  my  coffee  and  cigars. 

Instead  thereof  I  munched  some  buscuits  and  some  red 
prickly  pears,  and  washed  it  all  down  with  dew,  sipped 
from  rocky  goblets.  Having  slept  till  morning,  I  had  no 
way  but  to  go  on  through  by  daylight. 

The  whole  view  of  the  pass  seems  done  in  miniature,  and 
is  as  dainty  in  outline  as  any  photograph.  Yet  one  walks 
long  mile  after  mile,  up  the  easy  swell  of  the  plain,  then 
between  the  noble  and  mighty  walls  of  porphyry,  but  still 
on  the  plain,  which  is  a  mile  in  width.  Being  more  copi- 
ously watered  here  by  the  showers  that  run  along  the  sierra, 
saddle-like,  it  brings  forth  plenteous  grass,  and  charming 
dots  of  bright-green  groves,  mesquites,  greenwoods,  cat- 
claws  and  pitahayas.  Then  down,  by  a  descent  as  long  and 


SURPRISED  BY  INDIANS-CAPTURED. 

as  easy,  along  a  sandy  avenue  winding  among  the  little 
trees. 

Once  down  on  the  level  of  the  desert  again,  where  the 
few  stunted  bushes  needed  no  scanning,  I  plodded  on  in  the 
deep  sand,  without  looking  much  around.  All  at  once — 
I  cannot  think  to  this  day  how  they  got  so  near — I  saw  a 
band  of  mounted  Indians  approaching.  My  blood  turned 
pretty  cold,  and  I  felt  a  faint  and  dizzy  sickness ;  but  it  was 
worse  than  useless  to  attempt  to  escape,  so  I  stopped  and 
stood  motionless.  That  pause  probably  saved  my  life,  for 
it  enabled  me  to  collect  my  scattered  senses  a  little,  and 
thinly  cloak  my  very  genuine  terror  under  a  semblance  of 
idiocy.  They  saw  I  was  wholly  in  their  clutch,  and  rode 
quietly  forward. 

After  a  few  moments,  swallowing  down  my  heart  with 
a  convulsive  gulp,  I  advanced  to  meet  the  foremost,  wreath- 
ing my  face  in  what  must  have  been  a  pretty  ghastly  hys- 
terical smile,  for  I  dared  not  let  my  voice  show  how  I  trem- 
bled. I  handed  the  chief  my  calabash,  in  which  I  purposely 
had  some  sprigs  and  sticks  grotesquely  arranged.  He  took 
it,  surveyed  it  curiously  and  cautiously,  smelled  of  it,  found 
it  was  empty,  then  dashed  it  on  the  ground  with  a  grunt 
of  immeasurable  contempt. 

Then  there  came  to  me  a  happy  thought.  All  savages 
are  vain.  My  mirror!  my  mirror!  I  handed  it  to  the 
chief  open.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  saw  before  him 
that  face  which,  to  most  mortals,  is  the  dearest  one  on  earth, 
his  own,  which  for  forty  years  had  been  to  him  a  blank ; 
and  his  savage  pride  was  kindled.  He  gazed  at  himself 
with  much  satisfaction  for  several  moments,  then  handed 
it  to  another,  or,  rather,  another  one  snatched  it,  then  an- 
other, and  so  it  went  around.  Some  of  them,  like  the 
chief,  never  relaxed  a  muscle,  but  most  of  them  broadly 
grinned  or  laughed  outright  like  children,  when  they  beheld 


208  PLAYING  THE  FOOL. 

their  countenances.  Then  the  chief  took  it  again,  and 
looked  at  it  long  and  steadfastly,  with  unmistakable  and 
unabated  admiration. 

All  this  gave  me  time  and  confidence.  It  gave  me  a  sort 
of  hold  upon  them.  Now  play  for  your  sweet  life,  I  said 
to  myself,  like  a  captured  mouse.  I  began  to  execute  a 
variety  of  absurd  grimaces  and  gestures,  as  expressive  of 
delight  at  the  meeting.  Ha !  old  Copperhead,  my  lad,  give 
me  your  hand !  I  will  give  you  a  lock  of  my  hair  at  parting, 
but  I  beseech  you  don't  take  it  all.  I  seized  and  shook  his 
hand,  and  clapped  him  on  the  thigh,  as  he  sat  before  me  on 
his  horse.  He  was  evidently  not  at  all  displeased  at  this, 
for  he  smiled  faintly,  but  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  the 
mirror.  Then  I  stroked  down  my  infant  beard,  and  rubbed 
my  hand  over  his  smooth  chin,  and  laughed  like  a  maniac. 
This  did  not  appear  to  please  His  Greasy  Majesty  so  well, 
but  he  showed  no  resentment. 

Their  curiosity  over  the  mirror  having  abated  somewhat, 
they  began  to  plunder  my  traveling-bag.  Some  things  I 
surrendered  up  without  expostulation ;  others  I  struggled 
for  mildly,  playing  the  lunatic  as  well  as  I  could,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  saving  my  precious  note-book,  though  they  tore  it 
not  a  little  before  they  could  satisfy  themselves  that  it  was 
of  no  value.  The  chief  seemed  to  be  somewhat  impressed 
in  my  favor,  being  dubious  in  his  dark  mind  what  kind  of 
mortal  I  could  be,  and  he  presently  muttered  something, 
while  looking  at  the  glass,  which  made  them  desist. 

At  last  they  turned  to  ride  away,  and  one  of  them  mo- 
tioned to  me  to  mount  behind  him.  I  would  have  given  a 
farm  for  the  privilege  of  not  doing  it,  but  it  might  have 
been  imprudent  to  refuse.  So  I  climbed  up  behind  him, 
but  purposely  got  on  wrong  side  before,  with  my  face  turn- 
ed toward  the  tail,  skimmington  fashion.  At  this  my  grim 
captors  were  not  a  little  amused,  but  they  rode  briskly  away. 


A  DISAGREEABLE  CAPTIVE— ESCAPE.  209 

AY  ill  they  then  carry  me  away  captive  after  all  ?  I  wondered, 
and  my  forebodings  grew  darker  than  before. 

But  I  made  myself  as  disagreeable  to  my  captor  as  I 
dared,  by  clapping  my  heels  under  the  horse's  belly,  by 
swinging  my  arms  wildly  about  and  vociferating  like  a  fool- 
ish man,  and  by  bumping  my  back  against  his  occasionally. 
The  horse  became  restive  under  these  proceedings,  and 
kicked  up  a  couple  of  times,  whereupon  the  Indians  laughed 
heartily.  Then  he  stopped  suddenly  and  executed  a  vig- 
orous estrapade,  and  with  this  the  fellow  made  me  dismount. 
To  avert  the  consequences  of  the  anger  I  feared  might  have 
been  aroused,  I  ran  to  a  horse,  opened  his  mouth,  and  pulled 
out  his  tongue  to  look  for  his  age,  instead  of  inspecting  his 
teeth.  This  again  diverted  the  savages,  and  seemed  to  be 
the  last  link  of  evidence  which  convinced  them  I  was  an 
incurable  fool,  not  worth  the  capture.  They  grunted  to- 
gether, looking  doubtfully  at  me,  and  when  I  shook  hands 
with  them,  and  with  many  ridiculous  gestures  turned  to  go 
away,  to  my  great  joy  they  made  no  opposition.  Only 
once  I  turned  to  look  back,  and  again  they  were  gathered 
around  the  mirror.  "  And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the 
wonder  grew." 

These  Indians  were  remarkably  well-mounted,  but  most 
of  them  wore  no  clothing  but  a  breech-cloth  and  long  buck- 
skin leggings,  to  shield  their  legs  from  the  chaparral.  One 
of  them  had  a  scarlet  cloth  wrapped  tight  about  his  head, 
turban-like,  shading  his  eyes  a  little,  and  the  chief  had  a 
gaudy  Mexican  serape.  From  their  small  statue,  I  suppose 
they  were  Tonto  Apaches,  but  their  color  was  brassy,  more 
like  that  of  a  Chinaman  than  that  of  an  Indian.  Their 
little  bodies  were  scrawny  and  emaciated,  and  their  faces 
bore,  in  addition  to  that  stupidity  which  has  gained  them 
their  appellation  of  Tonto(fool),  more  hideous  ugliness  and 
pure  Asiatic  cruelty  than  is  seen  in  any  other  Indian.  Let 


210  ANOTHER  FRIGHT— ON  A  SAGE-BUSH. 

us  be  glad  that  America  has  borne  but  one  such  ghastly 
race,  only  one  such  perfect  type  of  the  hellish  fiends. 

That  morning  soon  after  my  escape,  I  had  the  rare  pleas* 
ure  of  beholding  the  morning  star  in  the  zenith,  though 
the  sun  was  shining  fiercely  resplendent.  I  accepted  it  as 
a  good  omen,  and  the  sequel  will  reveal  how  much  it  was 
worth. 

Yery  soon  afterward  it  began  to  rain, — the  last  fall  of  the 
summer  rainy  season — and  it  continued  without  a  pause  all 
that  day  and  night  and  all  the  next  day  and  night.  Every 
voice  in  that  vast  desert  was  hushed,  save  the  ceaseless, 
shrilling  patter  of  the  rain. 

All  at  once  an  enormous  Indian  dog  came  out  of  the 
dripping  chaparral  a  few  rods  before  me,  and  stopped  mo- 
tionless. I  was  more  scared  than  when  I  saw  the  Apaches, 
for  I  feared  an  ambuscade.  But  after  he  surveyed  me  for 
a  moment,  he  gave  one  breathless,  frightened  bark,  then 
turned  and  went  tearing  through  the  bushes.  His  precip- 
itate flight  showed  there  was  no  ambush  to  be  feared. 

The  loose  soil  of  these  alkaline  deserts  when  dry  will 
yield  such  a  cloud  of  dust  as  to  conceal  one  horseman  from 
another  ten  feet  distant.  But  in  this  pouring  rain  it  speed- 
ily became  soft,  and,  in  wading  across  the  shallow  seas  of 
water,  I  would  sometimes  go  knee-deep  into  the  thin  mud. 
It  became  dark,  appallingly  dark,  and  I  lost  the  road.  The 
light  of  Blue  Water  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  a  night  on  the  desert.  All 
night  long  I  was  perched  in  that  warm  rain,  on  a  sage-bush, 
whose  roots  made  a  solid  clump,  and  kept  me  from  sinking, 
where  I  caught  now  and  then  a  cat-wink  of  sleep. 

At  Blue  Water  I  found  a  large  man  and  a  small  Mexican 
in  a  flat  mud-house.  The  man  had  a  red,  sullen  face,  and 
he  was  continually  muttering  of  neglect.  "  Here  I  am," 
said  he — before  I  had  been  there  ten  minutes — "  keeping 


A  DISCONTENTED  STATION-KEEPER.  211 

his  station  in  a  desert,  and  making  money  for  him,  and  he 
let  that  wagon  come  out  from  Tucson,  and  never  sent  me 
nothin'  to  eat.  I  don't  care  nothin'  for  the  concern ;  it's 
him  I'm  making  the  money  for.  Here  I  am,  liable  to  be 
killed,  making  money  for  him,  and  he  don't  send  me  nothin', 
and  let  that  wagon  come  out  without  sending  anything, 
and  I'm  living  on  mackerel,  and  wrote  him  three  times." 
If  he  said  this  once,  he  said  it  forty  times  while  I  was  there ; 
and  yet  he  was  taking  as  good  care  as  he  possibly  could  of 
his  employer's  affairs. 

Nothing  convinced  me  more  of  the  cowardice  of  the 
Apaches,  when  there  is  any  manly  fighting  to  do,  than  the 
fact  that  this  man  defended  himself  here  alone.  The  Ca- 
manches  would  make  short  work  with  it,  if  it  were  in  Texas. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DOWN  THE  RIVER  OF  DESPAIR. 

*.&> 
_? 

f/GBODY  who  lias  not  made  the  journey  of  the 
plains  can  understand  the  feeling  of  relief  and 
satisfaction  with  which  the  weary  emigrant,  reaches 
the  Pimo  villages  at  Sacaton.  For  more  than  nine  hun- 
dred miles  he  has  lived  in  constant  fear,  for  even  in  the 
valley  of  the  Rio  Grande  lurk  the  most  deadly  enemies. 

But  now  he  has  arrived  at  last  among  the  Pimos,  of 
whom  he  has  been  hearing  praises  for  some  hundreds  of 
miles.  Now  at  least  he  is  safe,  and  he  feels  almost  at  home. 
He  can  turn  out  his  poor  weary  oxen  and  his  jaded  horses, 
to  pasture  all  night  wherever  they  will,  and  take  sweet  and 
large  rest  without  being  huddled  about  the  wagon.  He 
can  spread  his  stock  of  blankets  and  beds  under  the  balmy 
skies  of  Arizona,  and  lie  down  with  his  family  beside  the 
cool  and  plashing  music  of  the  Gila,  and  take  his  rest  till 
morning,  without  fear  and  without  peril. 

The  fame  and  the  dread  of  the  Pimos  are  a  tower  of 
strength,  and  as  a  wall  of  defense  about  him;  he  shall  hear 
the  horrid  and  heart-sickening  yell  of  the  Apaches  no  more. 
No  more  shall  he  shudder  in  his  sleep,  as  to  his  dreaming 
eyes  appears  a  horrible  vision  of  his  helpless  infants  mur- 
dered. All  night  he  shall  sleep  in  peaceful  quietness,  and 
awake  to  a  sunrise  made  glorious  with  "  the  pomp  of  Per- 
sian mornings,"  for  he  reposes  in  the  little  empire  of  the 
Pimos,  within  which  for  the  paleface  there  is  only  and  for- 
ever peace. 

212 


MEETING  WITH  PIMOS— A  MAX  OF  FAMILY.  213 

Sacaton  is  the  point  where  the  traveler  from  Tucson  first 
sees  the  Gila.  The  first  human  being  on  whom  my  eyes 
had  rested  for  many  a  league  was  a  Pimo,  who  wore  no 
clothing  to  speak  of  save  a  ragged  military  blouse.  Mounted 
on  a  beautiful,  little  bay  jennet,  he  came  tearing  up  the 
road,  with  his  long  Chinese  queue,  only  a  shade  darker 
than  his  skin,  whipping  the  air  behind  him,  like  a  lash. 

Presently  I  overtook  a  numerous  family  of  the  tribe, 
journeying  down  the  river  with  all  their  household  sub- 
stance, in  quest  of  another  home.  "Whatever  the  wretched 
squaws  could  not  carry  was  loaded  on  three  scrawny,  ham- 
mer-headed dobbins,  which  resembled  animated  saw-bucks. 
The  gentleman,  being  a  man  of  family,  felt  the  necessity 
of  complying  with  the  proprieties  sufficiently  to  wear  a 
scarlet  breech-cloth,  deftly  tied,  with  two  ends  dangling  al- 
most to  the  ground.  He  also  indulged  in  a  scarlet  shirt 
and  a  string  of  beads.  He  was  about  five  and  a  half  feet 
tall,  stooping  and  sunken-breasted,  with  a  broad  black  face, 
pleasant  look,  and  very  long  arms. 

He  talked  with  me  half  an  hour,  in  grunts  and  Spanish, 
and  smiled  incessantly  from  first  to  last,  so  that  I  could 
have  believed  myself  again  in  Mexico.  He  gave  himself 
particular  trouble  to  induce  me  to  walk  on  this  side  of  the 
road,  because  on  that  side  there  was  a  little  mud,  and  then, 
with  much  blandness  of  aspect,  asked  a  piece  of  to- 
bacco for  his  services,  so  that  I  could  have  believed  myself 
again  in  la  lella  Napoli.  He  had  none  of  that  shame-faced- 
ness  which  Homer  says  is  a  bad  thing  in  a  beggar. 

The  squaws  and  pappooses  also  had  long  queues,  and 
wore,  first,  beads,  second,  short  cotton  petticoats.  Their 
household  stuff  they  carried  wearily  along  on  their  bended 
necks  and  shoulders,  in  shallow  flaring  baskets,  woven  of 
roots,  hopper-shaped,  on  four  rods,  two  of  which,  as  they 
walked,  projected  far  forward  like  great  snail-horns.  Their 


214  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GILA. 

serene  lord  unloaded  and  loaded  them  whenever  they  rested 
— an  instance  of  devotion  which  wTas  almost  pathetic. 

The  Gila  like  its  great  congener  the  Eio  Grande,  is  highest 
in  summer,  from  rains  and  melting  snows.  It  writhes  and 
wallows  in  its  tortuous  channel,  and  seems  intent  on  devour- 
ing its  own  banks.  Often  while  you  are  standing  on  the 
brink,  a  tall  column  of  earth  topples  over,  and  strikes  a 
mighty  trough  in  the  waters,  with  a  stupendous  thud, 
or  carries  over  a  proud  and  lofty  cottonwood,  whose 
green  boughs  the  filthy  waters  straightway  leap  upon  and 
drag  and  trample  down.  Here  and  there  a  long  and  shining 
bar  of  silt  is  thrust  out,  like  a  tongue,  and  has  for  its  root, 
trees  rent  up  as  by  Enceladus  warring  with  Pallas,  and 
heaped  up  high  in  masses,  with  their  long  roots  sniffing 
the  air  in  a  vain  quest  for  their  wonted  moisture. 

The  river  flats  bear  no  grass — nothing  but  some  ragged 
and  forlorn  shrubs,  and  some  shriveled  purslane,  hardly 
recognizable  as  the  weed  whose  dropsical  stems  are  the  pest 
of  the  Northern  farmer's  garden,  and  the  terror  of  his 
children  after  school.  The  alluvium  runs  up  by  an  ascent 
so  easy,  and  knits  its  edge  to  the  sandy  plain  by  a  suture 
so  well  concealed  that  one  is  not  aware  he  has  passed  it, 
except  by  the  change  in  the  flora. 

The  whole  valley  is  drearily  flat,  and  indescribably  ragged 
and  desolate,  and  the  reddish  burnt-looking  hills  are  pig- 
mies compared  with  the  lordly  old  mountains  which  look 
down  in  savage  grandeur  upon  the  Rio  Grande ;  surely, 
I  cried,  I  am  now  in  the  back-yard  of  the  Republic.  But 
after  all  I  really  like  the  valley  of  the  Gila  for  its  unmiti- 
gated and  thorough-going  hideousness.  These  green  and 
splendid  pillars  of  pitahaya,  and  the  exquisite  little  green- 
woods seem  misplaced  and  wasted  on  these  plains  of  an 
extinct  hell. 

Yet  the  soil  is  surpassingly  fertile  in  the  Pimo  Reserva- 


THE  PIMO  VILLAGES— INSIDE  A  WIGWAM.  215 

tion,  a  tract  about  four  miles  wide  and  twenty-five  in  length, 
and  has  yielded  with  Egyptian  prodigality  for  a  thousand 
years.  The  warm  and  turbid  waters  of  the  Gila,  being 
spread  upon  it  in  irrigating  ditches,  maintain  this  fertility 
unimpaired.  The  Pimo  wheat  is  beautifully  sound  and 
plump. 

One  noon  as  I  sat  at  lunch  under  a  mesquite,  there  came 
an  old  Pimo,  exceedingly  wrinkled  and  withered,  with  scarce- 
ly a  rag  to  his  body,  and  sat  down  by  me,  and  remained  a 
long  time  motionless  as  a  statue.  At  last  he  reached  out 
his  hand  and  remarked  ; — 
"Ugh!  Ugh!  Ugh!" 

I  gave  him  a  lump,  which  he  mumbled  as  solemnly  as 
if  he  were  chewing  his  last  cud  before  being  hanged.  I 
don't  wonder  much,  for  it  was  about  the  most  villainous 
bread  that  any  dog  ever  took  into  his  chops.  After  a  long, 
motionless  silence  he  ventured  one  eye  on  me  again,  and, 
seeing  the  last  morsel  about  to  disappear,  he  reached  out 
his  cadaverous  hand  again,  and  grunted.  "  Fish  not  with 
this  melancholy  bait  for  this  fool  gudgeon  "  of  a  biscuit,  O 
Solomon  Pimo !  I  could  give  it  to  you  with  much  better 
grace,  if,  like  that  other  gentleman  you  would  only  grant 
me  that  inimitable  and  paternal  smile. 

A  Pimo  village  looks  like  a  lot  of  enlarged  ant-hills. 
Each  wigwam  is  a  low  mound,  resembling  our  gauze  butter- 
covers,  with  a  square  bottom,  and  is  composed  of  a  wicker- 
work  frame,  thatched  with  straw  and  covered  with  a  layer 
of  common  earth  a  foot  thick. 

The  Pimos  live  most  of  the  year  under  mere  shades  or 
arbors  of  brush-wood,  keeping  these  wigwams  as  store- 
houses. I  crawled  on  all  fours  into  one  of  them,  and  found 
it  full  of  huge  vessels,  woven  of  bark  and  straw,  demi John- 
shaped,  and  filled  with  their  beautiful  wheat ;  immense 
spherical  ottas  of  red  earthern-ware,  garnished  with  black 


216  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  TIMOS. 

streaks  ;  mats,  pumpkins,  wooden  bowls,  etc.  I  also  found 
what  I  thought  was  a  graven  idol,  and  congratulated  my- 
self on  having  discovered  an  indubitable  evidence,  against 
Mr.  Bartlett,  of  their  Aztec  origin,  in  that  the  image  bore 
the  lineaments  of  Montezuma.  But  when  I  carried  it  out, 
the  Pimos  laughed  heartily,  and  gave  me  to  understand 
that  dolls  are  not  the  exclusive  possession  of  civilized  babies. 

Among  the  Pimos,  the  women  not  only  own  and  inherit 
all  the  land,  (not  in  common,  as  among  most  savages,  but 
in  severalty,)  but  they  perform  all  the  labor.  Some  of  them 
were  winnowing  wheat,  by  pouring  it  down  in  the  wind  ; 
some  were  rubbing  parched  wheat  on  a  hollow  stone ; 
others  cooking  pancakes  on  the  coals.  The  flat-breasted 
braves,  however,  condescended  to  make  themselves  useful 
by  swinging  the  pappooses  in  their  hammocks,  which 
operation  they  performed  with  very  commendable  meekness 
and  docility. 

The  consequence  of  this  is,  that  the  squaws  are  hand- 
somer than  the  braves  proportionately,  as,  indeed,  the  women 
seem  to  be  in  all  southern  latitudes.  Is  it  because  the  men 
being  more  indolent  than  those  of  sterner  climates,  but 
having  no  less  authority  than  they  over  the  gentle  sex, 
impose  on  them  those  very  labors  which  alone  can  create 
the  mulierformosa  superne  f 

Of  course,  the  men  are  intensely  worthless,  but  they  are 
kind,  and  peaceable,  and  have  been  the  steadfast  and  tradi- 
tional friends  of  the  whites.  Only  when  the  squatters  began 
to  trespass  on  their  ancient  home  and  legal  reservation,  did 
they  become  somewhat  thievish  in  certain  instances.  Mr. 
D.  Wooster,  who  lived  several  years  among  them,  speaks 
with  the  greatest  enthusiam  of  their  virtues : 

"  Their  village  has  been  the  sure  city  of  refuge  to  people  of  our  race  for 
more  than  three  hundred  years.  Pursued  by  savages,  the  white  man  ha3 
ever  found  them  his  friend  and  avenger.  Women  and  children,  naked  and 


RELICS  OF  ANCIENT  CIVILIZATION.  217 

hungry,  with  torn  and  bleeding  feet,  coming  up  from  the  Rio  Grande,  or 
from  the  Colorado,  have  there  found  friends,  and  home,  and  food,  and  shel- 
ter, and  protection,  and  escort  on  their  weary  way. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  •:*  * 

"  All  travelers  will  bear  testimony  to  their  simple  virtues  and  generous 
hearts.  I  have  left  my  only  child  in  their  houses  miles  from  my  home  for 
hours.  They  have  divided  their  delicacies  of  food,  their  hulled  wheat  and 
sweet  bread  with  me  and  mine  when  they  had  none  to  spare.  They  have 
done  this  to  Spaniards,to  Mexicans,  to  all  with  white  blood  of  whatever  na- 
tion for  centuries. 
*****  *  ** 

"  The  Government  of  the  United  States  should  draw  a  zone  in  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  around  the  lands  of  this  historic  people,  a  league  hi  breadth, 
and  allow  no  white  man  to  settle  within  it  forever  and  forever.  A  monu- 
ment to  charity  should  be  built  at  the  margin  of  the  eastern  and  western 
deserts,  at  either  extreme  of  their  reservation,  and  it  should  be  inscribed 
above  with  a  few  of  the  good  deeds  of  this  long-suffering  people,  the  hum- 
blest of  the  poor  forgotten  children  of  God." 

Despite  the  surrounding  liideousness,  this  one  little  oasis 
occupied  by  the  Pimos  is  the  home  of  more  old  cob-web- 
bed legends  than  any  other  spot  of  similar  extent  in  the 
Union.  This  strangely-brilliant  and  tinted  atmosphere  is 
rich  in  suggested  stories  of  those  brave  old  Spaniards, 
whose  wild,  wide  wanderings  so  long  ago,  put  to  shame 
our  later  achievement ;  and  far  back  beyond  all  these,  be- 
yond even  the  mystical  seven  cities  of  Cibola,  lie  those 
perished  empires,  nourishing  in  unrecorded  centuries, 
when, 

"  All  day  this  desert  murmured  with  their  toils 
Till  twilight  blushed,  and  lovers  walked,  and  wooed 
In  a  forgotten  language,  and  old  tunes, 
From  instruments  of  unremembered  form, 
Gave  the  soft  winds  a  voice." 

Here  are  miles  upon  miles  of  their  irrigating  ditches,  dig- 
ged with  incredible  labor,  or,  perchance,  with  some  strange 
and  forgotten  enginery ;  the  beautiful  fragments  of  their 
pottery ;  their  pictured  rocks  ;  their  Casa  Grande,  already 
fallen  into  ruins  when  Torquemada  played  at  school,  and 
danced  the  gay  Cachuca.  Here,  too,  the  Fontine  fables 
10 


218         PICTURE  OF  A  TEXAN  EMIGRANT  IN  ARIZONA. 

teach,  the  Aztecs  wandered  long  ago  in  quest  of  their 
Promised  Land,  looking  for  the  sign  of  the  eagle  tearing 
the  serpent,  and  guided,  as  Spanish  bigotry  believed,  by 
the  old  Arch-enemy. 

Here,  too,  is  the  Texan  emigrant,  drawling,  begrimed 
and  tall,  his  dangling  trousers  of  jeans  ripped  by  many  a 
mesquite,  weary  and  worn  to  the  last  degree  by  his  long, 
long  search  for  his  promised  land.  But  he  has  neither 
lost  or  forgotten  any  of  that  glum,  "  I-reckon-so "  hospi- 
tality which  he  brought  with  him  from  Western  Texas. 
On  a  fire  which  looks  strangely  wan  and  weary  beneath 
this  flaming  sun  of  Arizona,  his  thin,  sallow  wife  fries 
steaks,  which  are  very  tough  after  walking  a  thousand 
miles.  It  makes  one's  heart  sick  with  pity  to  see  this 
poor,  haggard  woman,  and  the  piteous  eagerness  of  her 
sunken  eyes,  as  she  listens  while  her  husband  asks : — • 

"  Stranger,  how  far  mout  it  be  to  Californy  yet,  do  you 
reckon  ?  You  Darby !  will  you  get  over  that  'ar  tongue 
thar,  now  ?"  Upon  that  he  shoulders  the  wretched  beast 
over  the  tongue,  and  it  staggers  like  a  reed  shaken  in  the 
wind. 

"  It  is  about  two  hundred  miles." 

"  Well  now,  stranger,  them  thar  oxens  ca-an't  stan'  it 
much  longer.  Derned  if  I  didn't  hev  to  make  a  pot  of 
lather  this  momin'  afore  I  could  shave  enough  grass  for 
'em." 

How  many  a  family  of  emigrants,  after  dragging  on 
their  weary  march  for  months  across  this  great  continent ; 
amid  the  parching  thirst  by  day ;  the  perils,  the  alarms,  the 
lonely  vigils  by  night ;  looking  hopefully  foward  to  rest 
within  this  valley — to  fresh  lush  grass  for  their  jaded  oxen, 
and  to  cooling  shade  and  gurgling  waters  for  themselves — 
have  arrived  at  last  only  to  find  their  graves  beside  the 
dismal  banks  of  the  hideous,  the  treacherous  Gila  I  In  our 


A  SAD  INCIDENT.*  219 

train  there  was  for  a  time  a  family  of  those  people  who  are 
commonly  said  to  "make  their  living  by  moving,"  who  had 
emigrated  once  from  Texas  to  California,  then  returned, 
and  were  now  crossing  the  continent  for  the  third  time. 
The  problem  of  subsistence  with  this  class  is  not  so  difficult 
as  might  be  imagined.  The  Government  stations  have 
orders  to  distribute  rations  and  ammunition  to  destitute 
emigrant  families ;  and  the  measureless  ranges  of  wild  grass 
support  their  cattle. 

The  mother  of  this  family  had  five  children,  of  whom 
the  youngest  two  were  seldom  out  of  her  arms,  whether  in 
camp  or  wagon.  Without  a  murmur  and  without  a  com- 
plaint, seeming  to  know  no  other  law  than  the  will  of  her 
husband — worthless  vagabond  that  he  was — she  had  follow- 
ed him  with  that  meek  and  piteous  submissiveness  which 
has  in  it  more  of  heaven  than  of  earth,  but  with  that  worn 
and  saddened  face  so  common  to  women  living  the  lonely 
life  of  the  "Western  frontier. 

But  three  pilgrimages  in  succession  across  this  dreadful 
continent  were  more  than  even  her  patient  nature  could 
endure.  It  was  painfully  evident  to  all  in  the  train  that 
this  poor  woman  would  never  behold  California  again  ;  and 
even  her  wretched  husband  was  alarmed,  and  had  left  us, 
braving  the  perils  of  the  Ninety-mile  Desert  alone,  that  he 
might  hasten  on  more  rapidly.  At  Maricopa  "Wells  I  over- 
took them,  in  company  with  several  other  wagons,  where 
they  were  bogged  down  on  an  impassable  peat,  overflowed 
by  the  recent  unparalleled  rain-storms.  The  broad  flat  was 
literally  gridironed  with  sudden  creeks,  running  like  fright- 
ened deer  among  the  straggling  sage-bushes. 

And  here  in  this  hideous  and  lonely  wild,  while  we  lay 
on  beds  of  brushwood,  spread  to  keep  our  blankets  from 
sinking  in  the  fathomless  slush  ;  with  the  creeks  on  both 
sides  of  us  roaring  sullenly  through  the  black  and  gusty 


220  PAINTED  ROCKS  AND  SUN-PICTURES. 

niglit ;  the  dismal  yelping  of  the  cayotes,  that  were  unable 
to  reach  us,  floating  across  the  dreary  sodden  desert ;  while 
the  pale  thin  flicker  of  a  candle  shone  feebly  out  through 
the  wagon-sheet,  lighting  up  dimly  the  surface  of  the  surg- 
ing creeks ;  with  the  wailing  babes  around  her,  the  spirit 
of  the  weary  woman  took  its  flight. 

The  Painted  Rocks  near  Maricopa  Wells,  are  an  object 
of  interest  and  speculation  to  every  traveler.  They  stand 
quite  alone,  grouped  together  on  a  broad  plain.  The  prin- 
cipal matter  of  speculation  is  the  rude  pictures  of  four- 
footed  animals  on  them.  We  know  from  the  investigations 
of  Oregon  scientists,  in  the  John  Day  Valley,  that  the 
horse  existed  on  the  Pacific  coast  before  the  creation  of  man ; 
but  whether  any  horses  ever  existed  among  the  Pimos  or 
Aztecs  before  their  introduction  to  the  continent  by  Carter, 
is  something  doubtful.  Probably  these  pictures  are  intend- 
ed for  nothing  but  antelopes  or  other  wild  animals,  rudely 
scrawled  by  the  Pimos.  But  the  representation  of  the  sun, 
with  its  surrounding  halo,  plainly  points  to  the  ancient  Az- 
tec influence.  These  sun-pictures,  taken  together  with  the 
dark  skins  of  the  Pimos,  their  Mexican  pudginess  of  stat- 
ure, and  the  fact  that  they  always  build  their  doors  opening 
eastward,  in  anticipation  of  the  second  coming  of  Monte- 
zuma,  hint  strongly  towards  an  Aztec  origin.  They  them- 
selves firmly  believe  •  they  are  of  Aztec  descent.  Tor- 
quemada  asserted  that  they  were ;  Pedro  Font  believed  it ; 
so  did  Coronado ;  but  Mr.  Bartlett  rejects  the  theory  on 
linguistic  grounds.  lie  thinks  they  were  taught  by  the 
Mexicans  to  believe  they  are  sons  of  Montezuma.  But  it 
is  difficult  to  understand  how  the  proud  and  exclusive 
Mexicans  could  have  felt  sufficient  pride  in  this  lowly  race 
to  desire  to  establish  community  of  origin  with  them. 

I  could  not  distinguish  the  Maricopas  from  the  Pi- 
mos, except  by  the  difference  in  their  bread.  In  the  sub- 


A  LUNCH  WITH  THE  MARICOPAS.  221 

nrbs  of  a  village,  hidden  away  in  a  great  mesquite  brake, 
I  came  upon  a  merry  circle  of  squat  braves — the  squaws 
eat  by  themselves — seated  around  a  basket  of  wheaten 
cakes,  of  which  they  gave  me  one  to  taste.  They  were 
different  from  the  Piino  tortillas,  being  as  thick  as  a  bis- 
cuit ;  and  they  were  evidently  boiled,  and  were  unleavened 
and  clammy,  but  very  sweet.  They  masticated  them  with- 
out salt,  water,  or  anything  else  whatever,  except  the 
abundant  butter,  apple-sauce,  and  honey  of  laughter.  I 
confess  I  seldom  felt  so  much  moved  to  laughter  myself 
as  when  I  saw  these  gentle  savages  laughing  so  gaily  over 
such  an  unutterably  dry  repast. 

Everywhere  along  the  river  flats  were  visible  the  disas- 
trous doings  of  the  late  unprecedented  rain.  The  roofs  of 
adobes  (not  the  Pimo  wigwams)  had  become  soaked,  and 
run  down  through  the  layer  of  brush-wood  like  mush,  or 
crushed  everything  down  by  their  weight.  Walls  were 
melted  half-way  down,  or  had  toppled  over  in  masses. 
Chimneys  had  dissolved  like  a  candy-horse  at  Christmas. 

At  Maricopa  "Wells  the  Gila  turns  squarely  to  the  north, 
and  then  runs  around  three  sides  of  a  quadrangle  which 
is  a  desert  forty  miles  wide,  with  a  mountain  rim  on  the 
three  sides.  Looking  down  across  the  vast  margin  of 
plain,  before  he  enters  the  pass,  being  now  away  from  the 
hideousness  of  the  Gila,  the  traveler  beholds  again  the 
strange  and  wizzard  beauty,  and  the  magnificent  lawless- 
ness of  Arizona.  The  Gila  really  has  no  valley,  and  no 
river  ranges.  Spread  out  before  you  the  tawny  and 
mighty  desert  of  Arizona;  draw  down  through  it  the 
straggling  greenery  of  the  river's  cottonwoods;  mark  a 
parallel  line  here,  another  there,  some  ten,  some  thirty, 
some  forty  miles  from  the  river,  and  fling  down  on  each  a 
fragment  of  a  reddish  mountain.  That  is  the  valley  of 
the  Gila.  Far  out,  in  magnificent  prospect  of  lilac  dis- 


222  GRAND  AND  BEAUTIFUL  SCENERY- 

tance,  this  tawny  desert  sweeps  back  to  these  fragments 
of  ranges,  and  pours  through,  as  between  chubby  fingers, 
into  the  vastness  of  the  outer  plateau. 

This  is  grandeur,  but  in  the  pass,  which  is  merely  an 
isthmus  of  plain,  there  is  surpassing  beauty.  All  the 
ground  is  covered  with  autumn-gilded  grass,  as  fine  as  eider- 
down ;  there  are  pretty  bunches  of  silver-gray  mint ;  and 
then  there  is  the  fiiznaga,  thistle-rigged  with  spindles  of 
prickles,  like  long  amber  teazels,  glistening  crisp  and  fresh, 
when  sprinkled  with  dew,  like  cans  of  prickly  honey.  A 
wise  little  architect  called  the  cactus  wren,  as  if  knowing 
that  snakes  cannot  climb  this  most  exquisite  but  most  dia- 
bolical bush,  builds  its  nest  in  its  branches.  But  how  on 
earth  can  it  alight  ? 

Then  there  is  that  most  dainty  little  tree  of  Arizona, 
the  greenwood,  with  leaves  as  big  as  squirrel's  ears,  and  a 
trunk  as  smooth  and  as  green  as  a  water-melon.  It  often 
grows  close  beside  the  lordly  pitahaya,  their  trunks  touch- 
ing^ and  you  may  see  the  giant  reaching  up  fifteen  feet 
above  his  pretty  neighbor,  like  some  green  old  bachelor 
vainly  struggling,  with  both  arms  uplifted,  to  escape  from 
the  toils  of  some  bewitching  maiden.  Half  a  mile  away 
the  rich  red  walls  of  porphyry  tower  above  these  splendid 
columns  of  emerald,  heaped  up,  stone  on  stone,  like  some 
fine  old  English  mansion  in  the  Elizabethan  style. 

Sunset  came  soon  after  I  emerged  from  the  pass,  and 
then  all  the  walls  of  that  great  quadrangle  of  desert  were 
illuminated  and  glorified  with  lilac,  and  amethyst,  and 
orange,  like  that  magnificent  coronal  of  hills  which  encir- 
cles the  City  of  the  Yiolet  Crown. 

Though  far  from  human  habitation,  I  lay  down  without 
fear ;  but  that  night  sleep  was  gone  from  my  eyes,  and 
slumber  from  my  eyelids.  The  heavens  so  gorgeously 
pavilioned  with  one  of  those  matchless  Arizona  sunsets ; 


TWILIGHT  OX  THE  DESERT— SCARED  BY  QUAILS.        223 

the  bewitching  glamour  of  the  fading,  infinite  plain  ;  the 
pitahayas,  like  the  earth-born  giants  of  Apollonius,  keep- 
ing solemn  watch  and  ward  about  me  in  the  soft  desert 
twilight — all  these  kept  a  multitude  of  inchoate  fancies, 
flowery  imaginings,  the  first  flush  and  breathings  of  an 
over-florid  eloquence  of  description,  trooping  through  my 
brain,  and  banishing  slumber.  A  bright  particular  star 
came  up,  and  sailed  far  up  through  the  pass,  and  still  I 
would  be  vagabondizing. 

But  at  last,  all  this  my  glorious  Oriental  heaven  of 
phantasmagoria  revolved  on  its  axis,  and  brought  up  the 
clear,  calm  firmament  of  sleep.  One  soft  slumberous  wave 
after  another  came  drifting  over  me,  and  I  was  slowly 
drowning,  drowrning,  drowning — lost — 

What  was  that  ? 

It  was  only  some  Arizona  quails,  bickering  and  quarrel- 
ing about  their  shares  of  the  roost.  But  this  silly  noise, 
only  half-awakening  me,  filled  me  with  a  confused  and 
sudden  terror.  There  was  no  moon ;  the  sky  had  clouded 
over,  and  I  was — 

"  Shut  up  as  in  a  crumbling  tomb,  girt  round 
With  blackness  as  a  solid  wall." 

In  that  awful  moment,  with  a  faint  and  sickening  sense 
of  despair,  I  jerked  my  hand  frantically  before  my  face, 
thinking  I  was  blind,  because  I  saw  nothing.  The  appall- 
ing blackness  of  darkness  sat  upon  me  like  a  ghoul.  Ah  ! 
for  one  pleasant  voice,  for  one  word  to  cast  into  this  yawn- 
ing grave  of  silence !  I  whispered,  but  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  speaking  aloud. 

By  chance  I  established  a  sort  of  communication  with  a 
prairie-dog  or  squirrel.  I  would  strike  with  my  heel  on 
the  ground,  and  he  would  respond  by  beating  a  quick  tat- 
too on  the  side  of  his  burrow — the  dearest  sound  that  ever 
entered  mortal  ears.  Words  cannot  describe  the  sweet- 


224:  A  LONELY  AND  SLEEPLESS  NIGHT. 

ness  of  the  sense  of  companionship,  even  of  the  meanest 
animal,  in  that  frightful  darkness.  But  presently  he  got 
sleepy,  or  waxed  lazy,  and  he  would  answer  me  never  a 
word. 

Then  again,  "  those  thoughts  that  wander  through  eter- 
nity," began  to  go  out,  ranging  through  infinite  space ; 
groping,  groping,  flying,  creeping  in  the  black  and  form- 
less air ;  and  my  very  self,  the  "  imperishable  ego"  was 
far  away  from  that  lonely  desert.  There  passed  before  me 
men  in  long  black  robes,  mysteriously  beckoning  and  nod- 
ding— 

That  terrible  yell ! 

Is  it  a  lion,  or  a  jaguar?  There  is  another!  They 
fight.  The  raging,  the  clutching,  the  gurgling  and  choking 
growls,  and  the  screaming,  the  tearing  of  bushes — heavens  ! 
they  are  coming  this  way.  I  sit  up,  benumbed  with  ter- 
ror ;  leap  up ;  run  blindly  into  the  darkness ;  stumble  over 
a  bush;  fall  headlong.  The  yelling  beasts  surge  along 
very  near.  I  see  nothing  in  the  blackness  but  the  fiery 
glare  of  their  eyes,  circling  in  mad  whirls  and  lunges. 
Now  one  flees,  and  the  other  pursues.  They  are  gone. 
The  noise  of  the  swift  snapping  and  crash  of  bushes  dies 
away,  and  all  is  silent. 

For  that  night  there  was  no  more  sleep,  neither  any 
dreams.  All  the  remainder  of  it  I  lay  pretty  still  where  I 
fell,  for  a  single  movement  might  crack  a  sage-bush,  and 
bring  back  the  dreadful  brutes.  If  they  were  California 
lions,  there  was  probably  little  danger,  for  they  are  arrant 
cowards ;  but  the  jaguar  will  grip  a  man  without  hesita- 
tion. 

It  is  a  weary  and  a  dreary  walk  across  the  Jornada 
of  Gila  Bend.  Half  way  across  I  flung  myself  under  one 
of  the  dainty  little  greenwoods,  on  the  margin  of  a  dry 
arroyo,  glistening  too  bright  for  any  eye  but  the  eagle's, 


THE  ESTRELLA  MOUNTAINS— SUNSET.  225 

with  its  golden  sands,  and  gazed  languidly  out  on  the  plain 
in  its  thin,  pale  September  green,  over  which  the  pitahaya 
. — sleepless  Sentinel  of  the  Desert — keeps  his  vigils,  blink- 
ing drowsily  at  the  far-off  mountains  of  porphyry,  till  I 
fell  asleep.  Then  I  dreamed  again — dreamed  of  my 
Northern  home,  odorous  with  the  breath  of  honeysuckles 
and  fresh  butter ;  dreamed,  too,  in  my  thirst,  of  angling 
in  the  shining  brook  which  babbled  to  my  piscatorial  boy- 
hood ;  and  to  my  dreaming  soul  the  sweet  old  music  of  its 
ripples  was  crisp  and  cool  as  heart  of  melons,  or  draught 
from  its  bright  waves. 

As  one  emerges  from  the  savage  and  gloomy  gorge  in 
the  Estrella  Mountains,  his  eye  ranges  over  the  vast 
stretch  of  the  Gila  Yalley,  until  it  rounds  down 
beneath  the  horizon ;  and  in  the  middle  of  it  the  azure 
summit  of  Chimney  Peak  is  visible,  a  hundred  and  forty 
miles  away.  Distance,  mere  blue  naked  distance,  and 
nothing  else.  And  that  is  all  to  be  passed  over  afoot ! 
From  that  hour  I  loathed  the  Gila,  and  called  it  the  River 
of  Despair. 

They  told  me  I  should  overtake  trains  on  the  desert,  well 
supplied  with  water ;  but  I  found  none,  and  began  to  be 
grieviously  athirst.  Beneath  the  naming  glare  of  the  sun 
on  an  Arizona  desert,  the  pedestrian  without  water  weakens 
with  alarming  rapidity.  Deceived,  as  many  have  been  be- 
fore, and  thinking  it  was  the  faintness  of  hunger — there  is 
not  a  little  truthfulness  in  that  "Western  phrase,  "  starving 
for  water " — with  infinite  dry  mumbling  and  munching, 
I  ate  half  a  biscuit.  My  mouth  was  as  dry  as  a  barrel  of 
flour. 

At  last  the  sun  went  down,  with  all  the  fiercely  resplen- 
dent  pageantry  of  an   Arizona   desert ;  but,   instead   of 
bringing  any  relief  of  coolness,  for  a  half-hour  the  evening 
was  worse  than  the  noon-day,  for  there  came  up  from  the 
10* 


226  DREAMING  OF  WATER— GIL  A  BEND  STATION. 

heated  plain,  lately  rained  upon,  a  sweltering  earth-reek, 
which,  mingling  with  the  warm  and  sickening  stench  of 
cheriondia,  was  almost  stiffling. 

Far  off,  at  the  bottom  of  the  road,  there  gleamed  now 
and  then  through  the  cottonwoods  a  silvery  wink  of  the 
Gila ;  but  it  perversely  kept  at  the  same  distance.  Mile 
after  mile,  mile  after  mile — and  it  came  no  nearer.  The 
pitahaya  never  grows  near  water,  and  as  one  towering  col- 
umn of  it  after  another  slowly  loomed  above  the  horizon, 
and  spread  its  great  arms  dimly  out  against  the  heavens, 
bitter  was  my  disappointment. 

It  was  all  in  vain.  "Weary  and  faint,  I  flung  myself  at 
last  beneath  a  green  wood  shrub,  and  thought  to  sleep  away 
my  misery.  But  one  who  is  acutely  suffering  from  thirst 
cannot  sleep,  for  he  cannot  inhale  a  satisfactory  breath,  but 
feels  as  if  crushed  by  an  intolerable  weight,  and  fetches 
many  a  quick  sigh,  never  more  than  a  half-breath,  and  tosses 
restless  as  a  Corybant.  Probably  fifty  times  during  that 
miserable  night,  I  toppled  just  over  the  sweet,  delusive 
brink  of  slumber ;  but  the  instant  I  was  unconscious,  I 
would  dream  of  water,  clutch  frantically  at  it,  and  straight- 
way awaken.  The  oddest  of  these  dreams  was,  that  I  saw 
a  smith  with  a  golden  rod,  from  which,  with  a  cold-chisel, 
he  was  slitting  off'  gold  dollars ;  and  every  time  he  sliced 
off  the  shining  coin,  he  dipped  the  rod  into  a  basin  of 
sparkling  water.  Like  the  poor  beggar  of  Bagdad,  reaching 
out  his  hands  for  invisible  potations,  I  snatched  wildly  at 
the  basin,  and  awoke  with  a  handful  of  grass. 

In  the  morning,  the  cock  at  Gila  Bend  Station  crowed 
almost  over  my  head.  Staggering  down  to  the  great  olla, 
hanging  by  its  neck  in  its  swathing  of  cool  and  moistened 
gunny,  I  quaffed  the  arrears  of  thirty-six  hours. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 
IN  THE  HOME  OF  THE  HEAT. 


,  as  I  journey  down  the  Gila,  it  broadens  out 
before  me,  and  its  current  grows  less  turbulent. 
The  banks  are  lower,  and  often  there  comes  up 
through  the  cotton  woods  the  long  gleam  of  its  waters,  as 
they  go  on  their  quiet  way  to  the  All-mother  of  Oceans. 

Though  the  late  rains  had  somewhat  cooled  the  season, 
the  steaming  heat  of  the  valley  was  intolerable.  At 
noon  I  would  lie  under  a  mesquite,  vast  as  an  ancieiit 
appletree,  and  beat  the  faint  air  into  motion.  Sleep  was 
impossible.  It  was  good  to  lie  on  the  uttermost  verge  of 
the  shade,  for  the  tree  itself  seemed,  by  its  ceaseless  inhala- 
tions, to  exhaust  all  the  air  beneath  it,  and  to  seek  in  vain, 
by  the  listless,  drooping  tremor  of  its  leaflets,  to  winnow 
a  fresh  breath  to  itself. 

The  endless  chattering  Arizona  quails  alone  seem  to  be 
unconscious  of  heat.  Not  another  bird  is  stirring.  Hark 
where  they  come  now  !  How  much  loquacity  and  cheery 
prattle  of  contentment  there  is,  as  they  scud  with  infinites- 
iinal  steps  between  bush  and  bush,  laughing  and  racing 
like  children  just  from  school.  Now  the  whole  covey 
come  in  sight  under  a  sage-bush,  with  their  tiny  crests 
curling  forward  ;  the  leader  utters  a  sharp  cry,  every  neck 
is  stretched  up,  then  all  whiz  away,  with  every  crest  stream- 
ing back. 

Yonder  an  impertinent  pup  of  a  cayote  sits  on  his 
haunches  under  a  bush,  panting  and  lolling.  He  eyes  my 


228  DOWN  THE  GILA. 

every  motion,  and  stretches  his  neck  in  every  direction, 
sniffing  for  something  eatable.  Now  he  scrapes  his  ear 
with  his  paw,  to  free  it  from  the  myriads  of  mosquitoes 
which  suck  his  blood.  When  I  rise  up  from  my  notes,  and 
toss  a  stick  at  him,  he  impudently  trots  over  to  another 
bush,  squats,  and  begins  to  loll  again. 

Even  the  mosquitoes  stop  a  moment  to  hang  out  their 
tongues,  before  they  commence  their  labors.  Z-z-z-z-zip ! 
One  pauses  a  moment  to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow.  Slap !  Aha !  gringo,  you  announced  your  arrival 
with  too  loud  a  trumpet. 

At  Kenyon  a  veteran  hunter  and  myself,  to  avoid  the 
mosquitoes,  slept  on  the  naked  sand,  close  beside  the  river. 
We  were  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  rippling  river,  pouring 
around  us  a  sweet  mist  of  music,  as  Pindar  says  of  Apollo's 
lyre ;  but  I  was  soon  awakened  by  a  cold  clammy  nose 
touching  my  face,  followed  by  a  sniff,  sniff,  sniff,  and  a 
warm  breath.  Flinging  out  my  hand  suddenly,  I  struck 
the  soft  fur  of  a  cayote.  The  animal  ran  away  with  a  low 
startled  growl,  but  stopped  a  few  rods  away,  and  commenced 
barking. 

Who  that  is  an  American  has  not  owned  a  youthful  and 
adventurous  hound,  and  seen  him  snuffing  eagerly  through 
the  high  grass  on  a  fancied  trail,  with  tail  valorously  erect, 
until,  beholding  a  white  stump,  he  gave  one  long,  frightened 
bark,  followed  by  several  short  ones,  and  ran  away  with  his 
tail  between  his  legs  ?  Just  so  begins  the  leader  of  a  pack 
of  cayotes.  One  after  another  joins  in,  till  the  whole  cry 
is  in  full  chorus.  "  Oft  in  the  stilly  night,"  when  I  was 
not  sleepy,  especially  in  the  early  morning,  I  have  lain  in 
my  blankets,  and  listened  to  their  thin,  puppy  chattering, 
with  a  most  delicious  and  lazy  happiness. 

The  noise  of  this  one  attracted  many  others,  and  they 
seemed  to  agree  together  to  split  the  ears  of  all  owls,  and 


A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK.  229 

of  all  other  proper  animals  of  night.     Like  Hogarth's  mu- 
sician, the  hunter  presently  became  enraged,  snatched  his 
revolver,  and  fired  into  the  populous  darkness.     An  appall- 
ing squall,  coming  apparently  from  a  whelp,  told  that  his 
dark  shot  had  not  been  in  vain. 

In  consequence  of  the  tumbled  and  slung  topography  of 
the  Gila,  there  are  many  bits  of  mountains  at  right  angles 
to  the  river.  Some  poke  it  on  this  side,  some  on  that  side, 
and  sometimes  the  string  reaches  quite  across  the  valley, 
with  a  gap  in  the  middle  that  the  river  may  creep  through. 

The  Burnt  Hills,  below  Kenyon,  are  such  a  fragment  of 
a  range.  On  either  side  of  it  there  is  a  long,  elevated, 
narrow  plain,  like  an  awning  along  a  house,  perfectly  nude, 
and  laid  with  stones  as  black  as  pitch.  This  fearful  plain 
is  chasmed  and  rent  with  ravines,  "  depe  diches  and  darke 
and  dredfulle  of  sighte,"  along  whose  borders  the  scorching 
heat  runs  and  wriggles  on  the  black  bowlders  like  serpents. 

In  the  awful  solitude  of  this  scathed  and  blackened 
waste,  here  and  there  stands  up  a  pitahaya,  like  a  column 
marking  the  site  of  a  buried  city  ;  and,  to  make  the  illusion 
more  complete,  it  sometimes  stands  on  a  little  monticle, 
like  a  heap  of  ruins. 

Passing  through  the  gap,  I  beheld  from  the  exit  of  it  a 
landscape  which  Dante  could  have  studied  with  advantage, 
before  he  made  out  the  topography  of  the  orthodox  medieval 
hell.  On  three  sides  are  low  mountains,  lurking  in  savage 
gloom  on  the  horizon,  and  burnt  to  redness ;  at  my  feet, 
the  racked  and  battered  blackness  of  the  gorges ;  farther 
west,  the  grisly  waste  of  the  desert,  through  which,  in  its 
hideous  chasm,  the  Gila  wallows  away,  like  that  stream 
over  which  Charon  ferries  the  shuddering  ghosts.  It  was 
nearly  sunset,  and  away  to  the  west  a  shower  was  falling. 
As  the  sun  went  down,  it  peered  through  a  crevice  in  the 
clouds,  and  turned  the  rain  into  falling  blood :  and  in  that 


230  MASSACRE  OF  AN  EMIGRANT  FAMILY. 

instant  all  the  concave  of  heaven,  and  the  air,  and  the  des- 
olate earth  were  red-lighted  with  a  fierce  and  sullen  lurid- 

O 

ness,  as  if  it  were  indeed  the  very  abode  of  the  damned, 
horribly  yawning  with  its  quenchless  fires. 

Let  right  down  into  the  middle  of  this  blackened  waste 
of  plain  is  a  singular  basin,  about  a  mile  in  diameter,  across 
which  runs  the  Gila.  A  ghastly  massacre  of  a  family  by 
the  Apaches  has  made  this  spot  forever  memorable  as  Oat- 
man  Flat.  There  is  not  in  American  history  a  tragedy 
more  appalling  than  that  which  crowned  the  saddening 
history  of  this  family  of  emigrants ;  and  there  is  not  on 
earth  a  resting-place  so  hideous  as  that  which  holds  their 
bones. 

On  the  burning,  black  plain  I  hoped  to  escape  the  cursed 
mosquitoes ;  but  they  no  sooner  grew  hot  and  tired,  than 
they  calmly  sat  on  my  hat  in  myriads,  and  rested  themselves. 
If  I  stood  still,  they  jumped  off,  and  my  head  became  en- 
veloped in  a  churning  cloud,  a  singing  nimbus ;  if  I  ran,  it 
was  the  middle,  bobbing  nucleus  to  a  train  like  that  of 
Eucke's  comet.  Once  I  took  off  my  hat  and  coat,  laid 
them  softly  down,  then  rose  and  fled  like  the  wind.  Then 
I  stopped,  and  looked  back  with  a  grim  smile  of  triumph, 
but  in  ten  seconds,  they  all  arrived  with  cheerful  counte- 
nances. 

Presently  I  saw  an  object  at  a  little  distance,  which 
looked  like  a  mule.  Approaching  me,  the  object  suddenly 
cried  out,  with  a  voice  that  seemed  to  issue  from  under  a 
feather-bed,  "  Whoa,  Mike  !"  Making  a  desperate  effort, 
I  brushed  away  my  cloud  sufficiently  to  see  that  there  was 
a  man  in  the  other  cloud,  with  his  head  muffled  in  a  silk 
handkerchief,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  We  laughed, 
and  then  he  explained  that  he  was  hunting  stray  mules, 
and  had  also  mistaken  me  for  one  of  those  animals. 

The  river  lurks  now  no  longer  in  a  tortuous  trough, 


DENIZENS  OF  THE  KIVER.  231 

over-arched  by  cottonwoods,  but  spreads  out  its  waters  in  a 
vain  semblance  of  Mississippi  majesty.  Sometimes  it  rolls 
broadly  down  through  long  and  silvery  leagues,  again  it 
creeps  in  two  shrunken  and  pitiful  rannels  around  some 
mighty  island  of  shining  ooze.  Here  countless  regiments 
of  ducks  hold  their  noisy  musters,  while  they  flounce  and 
puddle  in  the  water,  or  stand  and  prune  their  sunny  feath- 
ers, and  with  their  broad  bills  ladle  the  water  up  over  their 
backs.  Great  white  cranes,  and  herons  with  crooked  necks, 
lazily  winnow  the  vast  waters  between  snag  and  snag,  and 
emit  at  times,  a  solemn  "  kouk !"  In  the  watches  of  the 
night,  you  shall  hear  an  uncertain  and  unearthly  croak, 
like  the  sneeze  of  a  hippopotamus.  The  lazy  napping  of 
some  huge  fish,  wallowing  in  the  fertile  waves,  is  followed 
by  the  sudden  stoop  and  flutter  of  the  kingfisher,  as  he 
struggles  lubberly  up  with  a  scaled  Gila  trout. 

The  old  Andalusian  or  rather  Moorish  adobe  will  prob- 
ably remain  long  in  these  treeless  countries,  especially 
among  these  nerveless  people.  And  the  Texans  who  live 
in  a  Mexican  climate  seem  to  acquire  very  soon  the  Mexi- 
can nostrils,  and  retain  the  unsavory  quadrangle  for  the 
horses  and  goats  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  The  dwelling 
is,  therefore,  like  the  Mississippi  double  log-cabins  in  shape, 
having  a  broad  passage  through  the  middle,  leading  back 
to  the  corral,  of  which  the  house  forms  one  side. 

But  the  Texan  still  has  enough  energy  left  to  improve 
the  Mexican  pattern,  by  fronting  it  with  a  bush-canopy  so 
broad  and  so  thick  that  the  space  under  it  is  almost  like  a 
cellar.  This  alone  keeps  his  brains  from  being  fried  into 
a  Mexican  condition.  Under  this  hangs  the  great  olla,  full 
of  water,  and  everything  that  he  eats,  in  little  bags,  to  keep 
them  from  the  ubiquitous  and  omnivorous  ants.  All  among 
these  pendant  eatables,  they  trundle  their  beds  about, 
wherever  any  one  can  find  the  coolest  corner. 


232  LOVE  IX  A  DESERT. 

One  of  tlie  characters  wlio  interested  me,  was  one  of  those 
grand  and  serene  Germans,  with  a  floating  gait,  who  are 
apt  to  have  been  crack  swordsmen  at  the  Universities,  and 
who  look  at  you  with  a  level  eye,  as  if  to  measure  how 
little  you  know.  He  was  distant  to  strangers,  but  exceed- 
ingly jolly  with  his  friends,  though  always  talking  of  him- 
self, fluent  in  five  languages,  and  polished  in  all  the 
refinements  of  Europe.  He  had  been  a  rake  in  his  day, 
but  was  tamed  at  last  by  a  great  love,  by  a  simple  peasant 
girl,  kind,  sweet,  lady-like  by  nature,  with  her  dear  little 
white  apron,  and  pink  cheeks — 

"  Two  lovers  in  the  desert  vast, 
Two  lovers  loving  well  at  last." 

Though  I  was  burning  with  curiosity  to  learn  his  history, 
he  was  studiously  reticent  on  all  but  his  American  life  ;  but 
I  think  he  was  a  nobleman,  exiled  with  his  little  peasant 
girl,  and  finding  his  reward  in  a  love  whose  depth  and 
tenderness  no  words  of  mine  could  picture. 

But  the  oddest  genius  was  a  huge  old  Agouistes,  who, 
in  this  dreadful  heat,  seemed  to  be  always  wishing  with 
Hamlet,  "  O  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt !" 
His  shape  was  about  like  that  of  a  wedge,  standing  on  its 
small  end.  He  had  a  long  face,  nearly  concealed  by  a 
patriarchal  beard,  touched  with  gray ;  he  always  went  bare- 
headed and  barefooted,  and  wore  his  shirt  outside  his 
trousers,  which  were  made  of  striped  bedticks. 

His  cookery  was  miscellaneous  to  distraction.  On  a 
single  stove  he  kept  up  such  an  amount  of  frying,  fizzing, 
stewing,  sputtering  and  singing  as  would  have  been  cred- 
itable to  a  metropolitan  restaurant.  For  four  eaters,  he 
absolutely  covered  a  table  ten  feet  long,  with  all  manner 
of  onions,  stews,  jams,  pickles,  preserves,  canned  stuff*,  veg- 
etables, beans,  tripe,  molasses,  and  indescribable  and  unre- 
solvable  gallimaufries. 


ARIZONA  CIVILIZATION.  233" 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  frying,  he  would  glance  out  of 
the  window,  and  then  shoot  out  of  the  house  as  suddenly 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  elude  the  fall  of  some  crockery. 
There  was  a  predaceous  cow  which  kept  making  incursions 
into  his  corral,  because  he  was  too  indolent  to  put  up  the 
bars  staunchly.  He  would  chase  her  around  the  inclosure, 
with  his  long  hair  flying,  jump  up  three  or  four  feet  high, 
and  strike  at  her  with  Ms  toes,  but  invariably  miss.  Yet 
he  was  a  kind-hearted  old  man,  and  those  who  knew  him 
said  he  was  compelled  to  rip  up  a  bedtick  for  trousers, 
because  he  gave  away  so  much  clothing  to  vagabonds. 

What  kind  of  a  civilization  will  ever  grow  up  on  these 
steaming,  frying  banks  of  the  Gila?  I  wonder.  Arizona  is 
rapidly  becoming  as  notorious  as  Louisiana  for  misgovern- 
ment.  The  isothermal  line,  which  ought  to  bound  the 
Union  on  the  south,  bows  up  above  most  of  Arizona.  It 
is  too  hot  here  for  any  good  growth  of  republicanism. 

If  we  had  desired  natural  boundaries,  the  Gila  and  the 
Rio  Grande  form  our  proper  western  arch,  just  as  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico  forms  the  eastern  ;  and  Florida  and  Lower  Cali- 
fornia are  the  natural  outside  abutments.  All  that  part  of 
New  Mexico  and  Arizona  which  lies  south  of  those  two 
rivers  is  worse  than  useless  to  the  Republic.  If  we  had 
halted  on.  their  banks,  they  might  have  stayed  up  the 
pressure  forever ;  but,  now  that  we  have  crossed  over  them, 
there  is  no  means  of  holding  to  the  Union  that  fragment 
which  lies  below  them,  except  by  running  a  railroad  through 
it,  and  tying  the  ends  to  New  York  and  San  Francisco. 
It  must  be  kept  vigorous  by  constant  infusions  of  American 
blood,  coming  from  colder  latitudes. 

One  thing  which  surprised  me  was  the  health  of  the 
valley.  Tucson  has  fresh,  limpid  water,  and  stands  on  an 
open  desert,  but  it  is  infested  with  fever ;  wrhile  the  inhab- 
itants of  this  moldy  valley  protested  they  were  always 


234  APACHE  SLAVES— A  WOMAN'S  CAMP. 

healthy.     It  is  possible  the  salt  and  alkali  have  a  kind  of 
an  antiseptic  effect. 

The  arm  of  the  Constitution  plies  laggardly  in  this  far- 
off  region.  At  Maricopa  Wells  I  saw  Apache  captives  who 
had  been  offered  by  the  Piinos  at  forty  dollars  a  head, 
while  no  American  rebuked  them,  or  hid  it  under  a  bushel. 
But  they  did  not  sell  them.  Why  ?  The  Americans 
wanted  them  for  twenty-five  dollars ! 

One  evening  I  stopped  in  the  camp  of  a  little  train  of 
emigrants  presided  over  by  a  woman.  She  was  a  vigorous 
matron,  of  about  forty,  fair  and  fresh,  with  a  slightly  aqui- 
line nose,  and  a  quiet,  dignified  manner  of  speaking  to  her 
teamsters,  which  made  them  know  their  mistress,  and  yet 
wras  the  farthest  removed  from  the  tone  of  a  virago. 

Her  life  began  in  far  Vermont,  \vhence  she  followed  a 
roving  husband  to  Canada,  to  Kansas,  to  Texas.  In  San 
Antonio  he  died,  and,  after  managing  his  affairs  for  a  little 
while,  to  fill  her  cup  of  bitterness,  she  lost  everything  by 
fire.  Everything,  did  I  write  ?  No ;  she  had  left  five 
little  children,  and  an  indomitable  will.  By  the  aid  of  a 
few  friends  and  her  own  heroic  exertions,  she  collected  to- 
gether enough  to  start  for  California,  which  was  now 
at  last,  to  her  unspeakable  relief,  almost  in  sight.  She  had 
only  five  armed  retainers  in  her  train,  and  alone  with  this 
little  band  she  had  made  the  journey  across  that  great  and 
howling  wilderness. 

She  was  a  woman  of  culture  and  of  ideas.  Everything 
was  tidy  and  ship-shape  about  her  camp.  Her  mules  were 
fat  and  sleek,  unlike  most  of  the  emigrant  teams,  for,  as 
one  of  her  teamsters  told  me,  she  had  sternly  prohibited 
them  from  abusing  the  animals. 

Thus  she  was  emigrating  to  California,  to  give  to  her 
children,  let  us  hope,  that  prosperity  hitherto  denied.  Such 
a  woman  will  be  worth  more  to  that  State,  than  any  dozen 


ARIZONA  CITY-^EXPERIEXCES. 


235 


of  the  sick-faced  counter-jumpers,  broken-backed  adventur- 
ers, and  swaggering,  bullying  swashbucklers  who  swarm 
thither. 

"What  kind  of  a  town  Arizona  City  may  be,  is  known  to 
the  gods.  I  only  remember  a  batch  of  mud-houses,  among 
which  were  moving  about  some  ghostly  umbrellas,  with  a 
faint  suspicion  of  whey  beneath  them.  The  staple  articles 
of  clothing  worn  by  the  inhabitants,  are  very  broad  umbrel- 
las and  very  capacious  boots.  As  soon  as  the  sun  sets,  they 
fold  their  umbrellas,  "  like  the  Arabs,  and  as  silently  steal 
away  "  to  certain  moulds  they  have  for  that  purpose,  in  the 
cool  sand  along  the  river,  into  which  they  pour  themselves 
out  of  their  boots,  and  in  the  morning  emerge,  solidified 
into  the  human  form  again. 

My  first  experience  in  Arizona  was  in  seeing  firewood 
gathered  with  a  crowbar ;  my  second,  in  seeing  hay  cut 
with  a  hoe ;  my  last,  in  eating  butter  with  a  spoon.  Turn- 
ing my  back  upon  such  a  land,  I  looked  over  upon  that 
fabled  country,  which  rims  all  round  with  a  golden  and 
purple  halo  the  dreams  of  our  ardent  boyhood.  And  it 
was  a  sight  as  uninviting  as  can  be  imagined. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
WALKS  ON  THE  DESEET. 

EEPING  cool  is  one  of  the  principal  concerns  of 
_  life  at  Fort  Yuma.  The  Yumas  have  a  method  of 
doing  so  peculiar  to  themselves.  They  fill  their 
long  black  hair  with  mud,  which  crushes  the  inhabitants 
thereof  as  effectually  as  Mount  ^Etna  does  the  wicked 
Enceladus.  Then  they  take  a  log  into  the  river,  and 
float  tranquilly  down  with  the  current,  writh  nothing  but  a 
shining  orb  of  mud  visible  above  the  waters.  Jeeheebay, 
the  Parsee,  says,  the  highest  conception  of  Heaven  is  of  a 
place  where  there  is  nothing  to  do.  Doubtless  the  Yuma 
Indian  could  conceive  no  more  ecstatic  existence,  than  one 
wherein  he  might  float  down  unwearied,  through  long 
summer  days,  lapped  in  the  soft,  warm  waves  of  the  River 
of  Paradise.  What  wonder  is  it  that  the  Pimos  fix  the 
locality  of  Heaven  on  the  Colorado  ? 

The  banks  of  this  river  are  very  flat,  and  it  is  worth 
more  than  a  drink  ot  its  seething  porridge  to  venture  over 
them.  They  are  perfect  man-traps.  Across  the  desert 
there  stretches  a  rocky  ridge,  through  which  the  river 
rifts  a  shallow  canyon.  Thus  the  frail  mud-walls  of 
Arizona  City  are  protected  by  a  natural  breakwater, 
and,  across  the  river,  Fort  Yuma  perches  on  the  break- 
water itself. 

From  the  lofty  walls  of  the  fort  I  looked  out  over  the 
haggard  and    sullen   desert,  and  my  soul  exulted  in  the 
very  greatness  and  savagery  of  its  desolation.     Ah !  it  will 
236 


VIEY/  FROM  FORT  YUMA.  23T 

be  worth  a  century  of  babbling  in  green  fields  and  fiddling 
among  flowers,  to  grapple  once  more,  as  on  the  Staked 
Plain,  hand  to  hand  with  Old  Hideous  ! 

Who  that  has  seen,  can  ever  forget  the  last  of  the  four 
pictures  of  Cole's  "  Yoyage  of  Life  ?"  In  it  an  old  man  is 
seen,  with  his  boat  just  entering  upon  the  verge  of  the 
ocean,  over  which  and  all  around  him  lowers  the  heavy 
murk  of  death,  while  his  face,  though  most  touchingly 
saddened  and  furrowed  by  the  bitter  conflicts  of  life,  is 
radiant  now  with  peace,  as  he  goes  tranquilly  up  towards 
the  dim  and  shadowy  walls  of  Paradise.  My  mind  was 
carried  back  to  that  picture,  more  eloquent  than  all  poetry, 
as  I  looked  over  on  the  mountains  of  the  Colorado,  ninety 
miles  away,  heaped  up  ridge  behind  ridge,  with  their 
wonderful  semblance  of  walls,  and  towers,  and  domes,  and 
spires,  and  minarets. 

See,  Nature  is  no  bigot  in  building  her  imaginary 
Walhalla.  The  Mandarin  shall  find  yonder  his  pagoda ; 
the  Norman,  his  massive  hall ;  the  Roman,  his  basilica ; 
the  Mohammedan,  his  mosque. 

Then  I  went  on  down  the  Colorado  towards  Pilot  Knob. 
Not  far  below  the  fort,  an  emigrant  wagon  had  turned 
aside  into  the  bushes,  where  a  very  happy  event  had 
occurred.  There  were  some  haggard  squaws  about  with 
melons  for  sale,  and  one  of  them,  who  appeared  to  have 
no  children  of  her  own,  was  exceedingly  interested  in  the 
affair. 

A  mile  or  two  below  Pilot  Knob  I  ascended  a  few  feet 
to  the  great  plateau  of  Colorado  Desert.  For  forty  miles 
the  road  ran  along  a  higher  plateau  of  sand,  which  the 
fearful  simoons  are  constantly  shifting,  and  which  some- 
times surges  over  the  trains  like  a  fiery  rain.  League 
upon  league  I  could  look  across  it,  as  over  an  upheaved 
sea  of  liquid  butter,  not  glaring  to  gaze  upon,  but  very 


238          FATE  OF  A  DESERTING  SOLDIER. 

mellow,   and  most   daintily  crimped  and  crinkled  with, 
wind-marks. 

And  now  the  road  begins  to  wade  in  white  sand.  O 
this  abhorred  winter,  with  its  waste  of  dead  limbs,  and  its 
perennial  snows — wearily,  wearily  I  tramp  in  their  drifts 
— thrust  into  this  arid  middle  and  heat  of  autumn,  with 
its  gaunt  and  hungry  air,  its  blinding  white-hot  shimmer, 
and  its  stifling  winds  !  Sometimes  I  hear  the  faint  chirrup 
of  a  cicala,  and  think,  with  Antipater,  that  it  is  sweeter 
than  the  swan.  Occasionally  a  gad-fly  buzzes  past  me,  on 
its  wide  and  lonesome  flight.  Even  the  crow,  which  labors 
heavily  along  with  a  strangely  sharp,  metalic  winnowing 
of  the  air,  holds  a  moody  and  solemn  stillness,  as  if  it  were 
the  last  crow  of  time,  flapping  over  the  charnel-house  of 
all  the  centuries. 

Like  Adam  in  Holbein's  Dance  of  Death  when  he 
goes  forth  from  Paradise,  the  traveler  on  this  abhorred 
desert  journeys  ever  side  by  side  with  the  King  of  Terrors. 
That  his  fear  and  his  dread  may  not  be  abated  or  forgot- 
ten by  the  shuddering  pilgrim,  the  ghostly  skeletons  along 
the  road  grin  horridly  upon  him.  All  the  ground  is 
whitened,  as  with  hoar-frost,  by  the  minute  shells  of 
myriads  of  periwinkles,  which  have  perished  in  the  old 
cataclysms  that  surged  over  this  surface,  and  in  the  raging 
winds  that  burned  over  the  waters,  and  have  cheated  the 
very  sea  of  its  rightful  dominion  here.  I  seemed  to  walk 
constantly  in  the  center  of  a  small  circle  of  naked  earth, 
but  all  else  was  frozen  over  with  mystic  ice. 

But  the  ghastliest  of  all  forms  of  death  was  the  body  of 
a  deserter,  who,  avoiding  the  water  stations  in  his  dread 
of  detection,  perished  miserably  here,  where  his  blackened 
corpse  was  scratched  again  from  the  sand  by  the  cayotes. 
O,  sad  it  were  to  lie  down  to  die  alone  in  this  hideous 
wild,  with  the  beasts  of  prey  already  ravening  near  in 


GLADDENED  BY  BEES.  239 

their  impatience,  and  have  the  starting  eye-balls  seared, 
and  the  last  hot  and  feeble  breath  snatched  away  by  the 
hotter  blast  of  the  desert !  The  fiery  sand  creeps  insidi- 
ously upon  him,  inch  by  inch,  like  drifting  snow,  sweeps 
in  a  hallowed  space  around  his  head,  but  eddies  thick 
upon  his  glaring  eyes,  and  burns  his  last  glance  to  an  in- 
distinguishable blur. 

What  are  those  strange  sounds  ?  At  first  it  is  a  discor- 
dant and  rasping  noise,  as  when  one  files  a  saw  ;  then  it 
changes  to  a  sharp,  tinkling  jangle,  like  a  chime  of  little 
tea-bells,  only  there  is  that  strange  half-clang  produced  by 
ringing  bells  under  water.  Approaching  closer,  and 
listening  intently,  I  find  that  it  is  the  buzzing  of  bees, 
and  am  gladdened, 

"  As  some  lone  man  who  in  a  desert  hears 
The  music  of  his  home." 

It  is  said  that  bees  often  perish  in  their  long  wanderings 
on  the  central  plains  of  California.  How,  then,  could 
these  wing  their  weary  way  seventy  miles  through  this 
dreadful  weather,  and  return  ?  Or  did  they,  like  Sam- 
son's swarms,  hide  their  meat  in  the  eater,  and  their 
sweetness  in  the  strong  ? 

New  River,  has  a  river  for  its  source,  and  empties  no- 
where. Branching  from  the  Colorado  near  its  mouth,  it 
slides  easily  down  across  the  desert,  in  a  little  mesquite- 
dotted  swale,  and  is  swallowed  up  on  a  level  seventy-five 
feet  below  the  Pacific. 

And  on  this  desert,  which  is  one  of  the  hottest  places 
on  earth,  whom  of  all  men  should  I  find  as  station-keepers 
but  Yankees !  Six  of  them  in  all,  and  among  them  a 
father  and  three  sons  from  New  Hampshire.  The  old 
gentleman,  whose  fame  for  stinginess  met  me  ninety- 
miles  from  his  station,  was  ministering  to  the  necessities 
of  some  disbanded  soldiers.  On  the  shelves  in  his  most 


240  A  XIGHT  WALK. 

wretched  and  dilapidated  mud-house  there  were  cans  of 
fruit,  the  inevitable  sardines,  pocket  handkerchiefs,  little 
cloth  packages  of  cut  tobacco,  and  a  vast  array  of  California 
wines,  gorgeous  in  labels  of  brass  and  of  scarlet. 

From  New  River  westward  thirty-six  miles  without  a 
drop  of  water.  With  a  canteen  full  slung  over  my  shoulder, 
I  started  at  sunset.  All  through  a  long  September  night, 
by  the  soft  desert  light,  in  the  soft  desert  coolness,  I  plod- 
ded through  the  brooding  solitude,  till  moonset ;  then  slept 
a  little,  waiting  for  daylight ;  then  forward  again,  till  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon.  Crunch,  crunch,  crunch,  forever 
through  the  gravel.  When  the  moon  went  down,  it 
disappeared  before  it  reached  the  level  of  the  desert,  and 
then  I  knew,  by  the  ragged  outline  of  that  which  crept 
over  it  in  ghostly  eclipse,  that  it  had  found  the  Sierra 
Nevada.  Could  I  repress  a  shudder  when  I  saw  my  sole 
companion  of  the  night  sink  into  the  rayless  blackness  ? 
Alone,  all  alone,  in  the  darkness  of  the  desert !  As  I 
watched  the  slowly  sinking  moon,  leaving  no  star  behind, 
there  came  to  me  something  of  that  feeling  of  sadness 
which  breaths  through  the  message  of  the  dying  Ajax,  when 
he  bids  farewell  forever  to  the  beautiful  light. 

In  the  morning  I  found  I  was  approaching  the  Sierra 
Nevada  between  two  long,  low,  dusty-looking  cordilleras. 
Between  these  mountain  spurs  lies  the  valley  of  the 
Carriza,  which  is  nothing  but  a  stretched-out  arm  of  the 
desert.  In  summer  the  Carriza  has  neither  beginning  of 
springs  nor  end  of  ponds.  Mysteriously  it  sweats  up  from 
the  sand,  whose  smooth  broad  face  tells  no  tale  of  its 
origin  ;  trickles  down  one  summer's  day,  clear,  cold  and 
swift ;  then  as  mysteriously  filters  away.  How  beautifully 
it  sinks,  like  the  wounded  dolphin  tinging  each  dying 
moment  with  a  new  alkaline  or  pearly  stain  of  exquisite 
brilliance  1 


StJNRISE  AT  CARRIZA  STATION. 

A  little  above  Carriza  Station,  I  was  rewarded  for  my 
early  rising  by  an  almost  fairy  spectacle,  worthy  of  the 
"  golden  prime  of  good  Haroun  Alraschid."  The  tips  of 
the  mountains  were  just  reddening  with  sunrise.  Before 
me  lay  the  white  sand  floor  of  the  valley,  sprinkled  over 
with  the  cheriondia,  of  a  bright  sea  green,  little  dead 
greenwoods,  of  a  peculiarly  crisp,  cool,  gray ;  and  sage- 
bushes,  yellowish-green.  All  the  higher  slopes  of  the 
mountains  were  thinly  draped  with  a  lilac  haze,  than 
which — 

"  Never  a  flake 
That  the  vapor  can  make 
With  the  moon-tints  of  purple  and  pearl " 

could  be  more  daintily  tinted.  When  the  sun  like  a  blood- 
red  globe  had  arisen  above  the  mountains,  all  this  haze 
seemed  to  forsake  the  western  slopes  and  gather  about 
it,  shrouding  its  beams  in  a  cold  pallor.  The  sickly  light 
falling  into  the  white  valley  upon  the  weird,  spectral,  Arc- 
tic foot-hills,  those  tropical  icebergs,  wrought  a  ghostly 
transformation.  All  the  shrubbery  was  blanched  in  this 
mildew  of  sunshine,  and  the  whole  valley  seemed  to  leer 
with  blight,  as  if  at  the  approach  of  the  haggard  King  of 
Terrors.  Not  on  the  final  morning  of  Time  shall  the  sun 
fling  his  wan  and  pallid  glare  so  cold  through  the  stagnant 
air  upon  the  Last  Man. 

There  was  a  detachment  of  discharged  soldiers  on  the 
road,  marching  down  to  "Wilmington.  I  walked  and 
talked  many  hours  with  a  little  blue-eyed  boy,  with  a 
downless  face,  but  a  plenty  of  sunny  curls  on  his  head, 
who  was  a  three  year's  veteran,  a  corporal,  honorably  dis- 
charged from  the  army  of  the  Republic.  Through  all  the 
unutterable  abominations  of  garrison  life  on  the  frontier,  , 
he  had  "  kept  the  whiteness  of  his  soul." 

"Why,"  said  he,  with  such  artless  innocence,   that   I 
could  not  but  smile,  "  I  am  very  glad,  after  being  three 


242  A  DISGUSTED  SOLDIER  BOY. 

years  in  such  horrid  ways,  to  talk  with  somebody  whose 
conversation  is  instructive,  and  not  sprinkled,  every  other 
word,  with  oaths." 

We  sat  down  by  a  spring  of  greasy  water,  filled  our 
canteens,  then  walked  on  again. 

"  I  was  brought  up  in  New  York,"  he  continued,  swing- 
ing his  canteen  over  his  shoulder,  "  but  I  never  see  or 
heard  of  such  dreadful  wickedness  as  there  is  in  the  Uni- 
ted States  Regulars.  I  was  in  a  mess  with  a  rowdy  set,  a 
lot  of  real  bloody  scamps ;  and  they  had  a  regular  con- 
spiracy to  make  me  stand  treat,  and  spend  all  my  money, 
as  they  did.  I  have  some  hundreds  saved  up,  but  there 
isn't  a  man  in  my  mess,  and  only  two  in  the  whole  com- 
pany, besides  me,  that  have  a  cent  to  their  names,  on  the 
face  of  the  living  earth." 

"  They  badgered  you  a  good  deal,  then." 

"  Why,  this  very  morning,  when  you  came  and  warmed 
yourself  by  our  bivouac  fire,  as  soon  as  you  were  gone,  they 
crowded  around  me,  a  dozen  at  once,  and  asked  me  '  What 
did  you  say  to  that  citizen  ?'  '  What  business  had  that 
citizen  in  camp,  talking  with  you  f  They  were  perfect 
spies  on  everything  I  did.  There  is  one  man  in  my  mess, 
I  am  certain,  who,  if  he  could  get  a  chance,  wouldn't  hesi- 
tate to  murder  me,  not  so  much  to  get  my  money,  but 
because  I  wouldn't  spend  it.  And  to  spend  it  in  such  a 
way,  too !  As  if  it  were  not  enough  to  make  one  spend  it 
for  grog,  I  must  bet  on  their  chicken-fights,  their  lice-fights, 
their  toad-fights,  and  such  brutal  things. 

"  But  you  could  appeal  to  the  officers  ?" 

"O,  precious  little  they  cared,  most  of  them.  I  tell  you 
anybody  who  will  go  into  the  United  States  Regulars  in 
time  of  peace,  is  a  thief;  or  else  a  fool,  like  me ;  or  else  he 
is  poor  and  has  to  do  it.  My  Captain  was  good  to  the  boys, 
because  he  wanted  to  be  popular ;  the  Major  was  a  real 


VALLECITO— AN  OASIS  IX  THE  DESERT. 

good  man  anyhow ;  but  the  rest  of  'em  " — here  he  signifi- 
cantly held  up  his  hand,  and  executed  a  filip  with  his  fore- 
finger and  thumb.  "  They  made  us  give  them  a  part  of 
our  pay  for  a i  company  fund,'  to  buy  luxuries  for  the  boys 
that  were  sick  in  hospital ;  and  then,  while  we  were  living 
on  hard-tack,  they  bought  wine  and  canned  fruit  for  them- 
selves. Why,  I  have  seen  the  boys  many  a  time,  when 
we  were  in  garrison,  and  there  was  no  excuse  under  the 
sun  for  the  commissary  not  having  enough  grub,  so  near 
starved,,  that  they  would  dig  up  these  Adam's-needles,  and 
cook  the  roots,  just  like  the  Apaches." 

"  Our  venerated  Uncle  Sam  never  hears  of  such  things." 

"  Indeed  he  don't."  But  it  was  good  enough  for  us,  for 
being  such  big  fools.  If  ever  I  go  into  the  United  States 
Regulars  again,  I  hope  I  may  have  to  eat  baked  roots  all 
my  life." 

Pleasant  to  my  eyes  beyond  description,  was  a  white 
frame-house,  after  those  thousand  miles  of  mud-huts.  This 
solitary  house,  neat  as  a  New  England  cottage,  was  Yalle- 
cito.  "We  had  wandered  up  nearly  fifty  miles  between  the 
haggard  Cordilleras,  till  they  were  now  only  a  half-mile 
apart ;  and  right  down  into  this  valley,  here  all  hoary-gray 
with  stunted  century-plants,  and  reeking  beneath  the  ava- 
lanches of  heat  which  roll  and  quiver  down  the  mountains, 
the  fifty  green  acres  of  the  Vallecito  oasis  are  flung 
together. 

It  is  a  perfect  Paradise,  a  Garden  of  Adonis  in  the  wil- 
derness. The  pretty  cottage,  embowered  in  vines  and 
peach-trees,  in  an  atmosphere  redolent  with  mellow  peaches 
in  the  grass,  and  with  cool  milk  in  the  spring-house ;  the 
bright-green  foliage  of  the  ever-welcome  cottonwoods,  and 
the  willows  bending  tenderly  over  infant  rills ;  the  Arca- 
dian and  pastoral  simplicity  of  the  Diegeno  brushwood 
huts,  stacked  about  with  golden  fodder,  and  floored  with 


INVITED  TO  RIDE. 

creamy  pumpkins,  over  which  little  swarthy  babies  tum- 
bled and  cackled  with  the  kids  and  the  dogs ;  and,  above 
all  else,  the  sweet  music  of  summer  birds,  silent  for  a  thou- 
sand miles — all  this  in  the  very  middle  of  the  horrible 
desert ! 

Beyond  Yallecito  I  was  overtaken  by  a  little  man  in  a 
very  little  spring-wagon.  He  had  a  face  as  round  as  a 
button,  and  very  red  eyes,  and  he  was  all  the  while  drink- 
ing something  from  a  coffee-pot.  When  he  came  up,  he 
slackened  his  pace  a  little. 

"  Warm  day,"  said  I. 

"  You  bet,"  said  he.  A  slight  pause.  Another  drink 
from  the  spout  of  the  coffee-pot. 

"  Come  from  the  States?"  said  he. 

"  I  am  recently  from  the  Eastern  States  ;  yes." 

"  Get  in,"  said  he,  motioning  with  his  elbow  toward  the 
vacant  space  on  the  seat. 

"  No ;  I  thank  you,"  said  I.  Up  goes  the  coffee-pot 
again. 

"  Want  to  work  ?"  he  asked,  changing  his  lines  into  his 
right  hand,  and  twisting  round  in  his  seat  to  look  at  me. 

"  I  thought  people  didn't  have  to  work  in  California." 

"  You  bet  your  life  they  do,"  said  he.  Then  presently, 
"  Better  get  in." 

"  No ;  I  am  walking  for  a  living." 

"  You  bet,"  said  he ;  and  then  he  drove  on  again.  Al- 
most the  last  thing  I  saw  of  him  before  he  vanished  from 
sight,  was  his  white  Chinese  hat  tipped  back,  and  the  new 
coffee-pot  on  a  level  with  the  same,  brightly  glinting  in 
the  sunlight. 

You  can  classify  half  the  Californians  you  meet,  by  the 
manner  in  which  they  speak  that  phrase.  A  great  major, 
ity  of  them  pronounce  it  in  the  headlong,  careless  way, 
"  You  ~bet"  which  accentation  indicates  about  the  largest 


YOU  BET— SAN  FELIPE  PASS.  245 

amount  of  personal  indifference  toward  yourself  and  all 
other  human  beings  that  you  can  easily  imagine.  The 
man  who  says  "  You  bet,"  is  somewhat  reflective,  and  does 
not  spend  his  money  freely.  Beware  of  him ;  he  is  a  sub- 
jective man ;  one  of  those, 

"  Whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pond ;" 

he  reads  you  through  and  through.  The  man  newly 
arrived  from  the  East  timidly  says,  "  You  bet."  Your 
portly  men,  sportsmen,  and  carriers  of  canes,  who  know 
their  words  are  rather  empty,  and  always  need  to  be  boiled 
down,  have  it,  "  You  bet  your  Ufe"  or  "  You  bet  your 
sweet  life" 

Pretty  soon  after  this  I  reached  the  top  of  this  long 
arm  of  desert,  which  is  thrust  thus  into  the  mountains, 
and  turned  abruptly  aside  into  the  famous  San  Felipe 
pass.  Mile  after  mile  the  road  wanders  up  into  the  moun- 
tains, on  a  natural  railroad  grade,  along  the  bed  of  -an 
arroyo ;  sweeps  gracefully  around  many  a  jagged  headland 
of  greenish  or  bird's-eye  granite ;  threads  a  labyrinth  of 
wanderings,  which  have  in  one  corner  a  savage  cat-claw^ 
in  another,  a  delicate  mimbre ;  ever  up,  and  up,  so  long 
and  so  easy. 

Then  all  at  once,  the  road  wedges  itself  in  between  two 
mighty  walls,  a  thousand  feet  high,  perhaps,  so  near 
together  that  a  very  wide  vehicle  would  with  difficulty 
pass  between.  Ah !  if  there  should  come  an  earthquake 
now,  and  bump  these  walls  together!  Presently  there 
stands  straight  before  us  a  perpendicular,  water-chiseled 
precipice,  and  the  road  surges  away  upward  and  eastward, 
climbs  around  by  wild  and  dizzy  ways,  pitches  at  a  break- 
neck rate  down  a  steep  hill,  then  mounts  another,  and  so 
at  last  tramps  steadily  up  through  a  vast  and  flaring  gorge 
into  the  mighty  pass. 


246 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  CHAPARRAL. 


On  top  of  a  huge  gray  bowlder  I  sat  down  to  rest,  and 
to  bid  farewell,  as  I  supposed,  to  the  desert.  But  no ;  for, 
like  that  "  lean  fellow"  whose  dwelling  place  it  is,  the  hun- 
gry desert  will  have  its  rounded  dues.  It  clutches  in  its 
lean  fingers  the  granite  heart  of  the  mountains ;  and, 
sitting  on  their  very  summits,  laughs  in  scorn  over  the 
valleys  on  which  it  has  spread  its  shroud  of  dearth. 

Then  I  ascended  the  highest  mountain  there  was  in 
sight,  and  from  the  summit  beheld  nothing  but  a  herd  of 
stubby  humps,  which  looked  as  if  they  had  been  mauled 
back  when  they  tried  to  rise.  They  are  like  the  moun- 
tains of  Texas,  bald,  hot,  gray,  stupid ;  without  trees,  or 
cataracts,  or  any  yawning  chasms;  not  shooting  up  any 
pinnacles  gloriously  into  high  heaven ;  bastard  mountains, 
inexpressible  lonesomeness,  of  ancient  desolation. 

The  Sierra  Nevada  and  the  Coast  Range  interlock  here 
in  a  confused,  tumbling  system  of  hills ;  but,  as  you  look 
toward  the  Pacific,  you  can  easily  recognize  the  summits 
of  the  Coast  Range  proper,  by  the  Alpine  freshness  of 
their  greenness.  Great  joy  is  that  to  the  weary  pedes- 
trian. From  this  hour  he  bids  farewell  to  the  chaparral. 
The  thickets  of  the  Coast  Range  are  not  thorny. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
HO^EY  IN  GBEEX  HILLS.1 


T  last  I  was  really  in  California.  It  was  the  valley 
of  San  Felipe.  Californian-like,  there  was  a  flow- 
ing bar  in  the  station,  but  of  things  to  eat,  not  so 
much  as  a  cracker,  for  the  soldiers  had  eaten  out  everything. 
Going  over  the  creek  to  the  Indian  village,  I  came  first  to 
a  Diegeno  squaw,  whose  numerous  babies,  scared  by  the 
Paleface,  all  ran  and  clutched  her  by  the  petticoat. 
Pointing  to  a  basket  of  pan-cakes  on  the  roof  of  the 
hut,  then  at  a  great  heap  of  peaches,  I  made  a  significant 
gesture,  gave  her  a  silver  quarter,  and  said,  "  Sobez  /" 

Then  she  said,  "  Ugh  !  ugh  !" 

Then  I  said  "  Ugh  !" 

Then  she  gave  me  a  hatful  of  juicy  peaches,  and  two 
pan-cakes,  and  seemed  well  content. 

A  wondrous  valley  was  that  of  San  Felipe,  in  that  yellow 
month  of  September,  as  it  stretched  out  between  the 
sierras  its  long  and  sunny  reaches,  mile  after  mile,  thickly 
clad  as  a  sheep's  back  with  the  rich  and  odorous  rowen. 
On  this  sweet-smelling  couch,  beneath  a  clump  of  whisper- 
ing cottonwoods,  I  flung  myself  down  for  an  afternoon  of 
dreamy  pencilings.  Behind  me  lay  Sahara;  before  me, 
the  fabulous  richness  and  ripeness  of  California  in  Autumn, 
to  traverse  which  there  still  remained  a  golden  remnant  of 
days,  which  should  be  mine  to  enjoy,  before  the  rainy 
season,  without  a  freak  of  thunder  or  withering  simoom. 

And  so  I  scribbled  on  and  on  across  that  dusty  desert, 
247 


2  ±8  IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  SAN  FELIPE. 

and  all  those  torments  came  back  to  me — torments — and 
then — and — dusty — the  desert — my  pencil  dropped  from 
my  drowsy  grasp,  and  I  lay  "  face  downward  to  the  quiet 
grass,"  paying  the  unconscious  best  tribute  of  respect  to 
the  subtile  resuscitations  of  California. 

If  any  man  understands  the  valley  system  of  Southern 
California,  it  is  a  gift  of  Nature ;  let  him  not  boast  himself 
thereof  above  others.  Most  of  the  valleys  appear  to  trend 
about  K  W.  by  K  half  1ST. ;  but  if  it  isn't  that  way,  it's 
some  other  way,  which  is  just  as  good.  What  is  certain 
is,  that  this  lovely  valley  of  San  Felipe  is  swung  down 
among  the  mountains  like  a  huge  hammock,  one  end 
being  beautifully  green  in  the  Coast  Range,  the  other  a 
desert  in  the  Sierra  Nevada  foothills.  Another  certain 
thing  is,  that  a  September  morning  in  this  valley  is  one 
of  the  finest  possible  in  any  climate,  because,  after  sleeping 
with  profound  soundness,  not  enfeebled  by  any  sultriness, 
you  slowly  warm  out  from  the  chill  of  a  Swiss  morning 
into  the  most  exquisite  of  Italian  forenoons,  with  its  violet 
haze  on  the  mountains. 

Then,  too,  such  is  the  admirable  salubrity  and  attraction 
of  this  almost  changeless  climate,  that,  away  in  these  dry 
days  of  September, 

"  Smale  fowles  maken  melodis,   that  slepen  all  the  night  with  open  yhe," 

as  cheerily  as  in  the  East  alone  in  April*  Words  cannot 
express  the  delight  with  which  I  listened  to  the  sweet 
jangle  of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  morning,  the  first  after 
the  desert,  the  first  really  in  California.  That  pretty  scold 
with  beak  of  gold,  the  magpie,  was  saying  as  snappishly 
as  possible,  "  You  shan't !  you  shan't !"  Then  there  was 
the  bluejay. 

"  Jaybird,  jaybird,  what'll  you  take  for  your  tail  ?" 

"  Sixpence !  sixpence  1" 


CALIFORNIA  BIRDS.  249 

"Cut'toff!  cut' toff!" 

"Pay!  pay!" 

The  strutting  and!  important  quail  was  always  tittering 
his  imperious  family  call  "  Come  right  home  !  come  right 
home  !"  Once  in  a  while  the  lonesome  bachelor  paysano 
chimed  timidly  in,  "  Ukle,  ukle,  ukle  !"  Then  there  was 
the  melodious  warble  of  the  oriole,  and  the  blue-bird,  and 
the  sweet  small  chirrup  of  the  yellow-bird,  with  a  song  as 
wavy  as  its  seesaw  line  of  flight,  and  the  crows,  gabbling, 
and  chuckling,  and  cawing. 

If  California  has  no  mocking-bird,  like  that  of  the  South, 
and  no  bobolink  like  that  of  New  England,  it  has  more 
than  a  compensation  in  its  own  variety  of  lark.  Its  song 
is  more  rapturous  than  the  bobolink's,  though  almost  as 
brief,  but  is  irregular  and  wild,  yet  soft  and  wonderfully 
thrilling,  and  has  none  of  the  New  England  angularity  of 
the  bobolink's  tune.  It  is  the  wild  and  resistless  abandon 
of  genius.  But  the  lark  is  modest,  and  needs  no  arts  of 
coquetry,  no  flitting  and  swinging  on  bushes,  and  flashing 
plumage — which  it  has  not — to  trick  forth  its  peerless 
carol,  as  the  bobolink  does. 

Then  for  the  bass,  there  came  up  from  afar  the  appalling 
and  mighty  blast  of  the  donkey.  There  never  was  made 
on  earth  such  another  concentrated  and  double-breasted 
roar  as  some  of  those  animals  vented  in  the  San  Felipe 
valley.  But,  after  all,  say  what  you  like,  his  music  is 
incomparably  more  respectable  than  that  of  half  the  piano- 
players,  because  it  is  natural,  and  has  at  its  foundation  the 
root  of  all  music  that  is  worth  hearing,  this  feeling,  to  wit : 
"  I  do  but  sing  because  I  must."  Besides  that,  his  charac- 
ter is  laudable ;  he  is  so  thoroughly  honest  and  sincere, 
and  speaks  his  mind  so  freely. 

Along  the  edge  of  the  valley  were  the  huts  of  the  Diege- 
nos,  built  of  poles  and  flat-thatched  with  straw.  All  over 


250  DIEGENOS  VILLAGES. 

and  around  them  were  mats  and  cloths  of  drying  peaches, 
with  their  little  cups  of  amber  juice ;  baskets  of  pan -cakes 
on  the  roofs,  etc.  Inside,  the  converted  braves,  mighty  to 
do  nothing,  endlessly  chaffering  and  giggling,  stretched 
themselves  at  ease  on  a  collection  of  vegetables  more 
motly  than  a  booth  of  paschal  eggs  in  Cologne.  Heaps  of 
red  and  yellow  maize,  melons,  peaches,  prickly  pears,  cat- 
claw  and  mesquite  pods,  and  pumpkins  with  their  fat  necks 
ridged  with  whelks. 

I  have  spoken  before  of  the  inferiority  of  these  Pacific 
tribes  to  the  Eastern  Indians.  They  were  weaker  in  body, 
because  the  latter  found  plenty  of  good  meat  in  their 
forests,  while  the  Pacific  tribes  ate  principally  grasshoppers 
and  grubs. 

"What  tribes  of  Eastern  Indians  ever  submitted  to  be 
named  anew  by  the  English  ?  But  the  Jesuits  called  these 
after  their  missions,  Diegenos,  Miguelenoa,  etc.,  names 
which  they  keep  to-day.  But  then  there  was  something 
wonderfully  magnetic  about  these  old  Spaniards,  not  found 
in  Saxons.  And  when  the  "  magnetism"  failed,  they 
pieced  it  out  with  the  lazo.  According  to  Kotsebue,  La 
Perouse,  and  others,  this  was  found  a  most  potent  spiritual 
weapon  in  subduing  the  carnal  desires  of  the  heathen  to 
breathe  God's  pure  air.  The  Indians  had  very  wicked 
and  profane  "sweat  houses,"  for  keeping  themselves 
healthy.  The  Jesuits  immured  them  in  religious  dun- 
geons, or  in  huts  so  outrageous  that  they  burned  them 
periodically  to  suppress  the  vermin.* 

So  I  wandered  on  up  the  valley,  between  the  brown- 
and-green-mottled  mountains,  spiked  atop  with  pines, 

*Kotsebue,  as  quoted  by  Dr.  Stillman,  says,  "  These  dungeons  are  opened 
two  or  three  times  a  day,  but  only  to  allow  the  prisoners  to  pass  to  and  from 
the  church.  I  have  occasionally  seen  the  poor  girls  rushing  out  eagerly  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  driven  immediately  into  the  church  like  a  flock  of 
sheep  by  an,  old  ragged  Spaniard  armed  with  a  stick."  This  was  in  1824. 


ENCOUNTER  WITH  A  DIEGENO.  251 

through  the  f urzy  luxuriance  of  the  dappled  prairie.  Sprin- 
kled in  the  grass  were  patches  of  dwarf  sunflowers,  here 
and  there  a  milky  morning-glory,  and  the  white  flowers  of 
the  jimson. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  valley  there  were  groves  of  vast 
live-oaks,  shutting  out  all  the  heavens.  Lying  at  the  base 
of  one  of  their  amazingly  large  trunks,  close  beside  the 
bank,  where  "  the  babbling  runnel  crispeth,"  I  fell  asleep 
again,  in  this  sunny  weather,  and  was  awakened  by  a  good- 
sized  spider  which  trotted  across  my  face. 

Here  a  rift  in  the  leafy  canopy  suddenly  reveals  the 
mountains,  now  beetling  close  overhead.  It  is  Italy  !  It 
is  Italy !  This  splendid,  shining,  black-green  oak  is  the 
ilex ;  up  yonder  the  huge  white  bowlders  stand  out  so  won- 
drously  cool  and  clean-looking  in  the  Alpine  green  of  the 
chamizal,  just  as  in  Italian  Tyrol ;  and  there,  too,  is  the 
same  delicious,  dreamy  haze.  Verily  it  is  Italy,  for  here 
is  the  house  of  Signor  Tutti-Frutti,  charmingly  snug  and 
neat  in  this  land  of  slatternly  habitations ;  and  in  his  field 
the  Italian  "  triple  culture  "• — wheat  between  rows  of  apples 
and  vines. 

Just  then  a  Diegeno,  hideous  in  his  army  rags,  came 
down  the  road  on  a  beautiful  Spanish  pony,  which  was 
single-footed.  As  soon  as  he  espied  me,  he  started  on  a 
gallop,  reeling  in  his  saddle,  and  yelling  like  a  demon.  He 
rode  straight  at  me,  and  stopped  astonishingly  short,  just 
before  the  pony's  head  knocked  against  my  head.  He 
wanted  tobacco,  and  evidently  believed  in  the  motto,  "Qui 
timide  rogat,  docet  negare"  for  he  stretched  out  his  hand, 
and  grunted  vigorously.  Having  none,  I  tried  to  get  away, 
but  I  could  by  no  means  escape,  for  he  managed  the  horse 
with  such  extraordinary  dexterity  and  quickness  that,  turn 
what  way  I  would,  the  animal  confronted  me  face  to  face 
in  an  instant.  It  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the  rascal's  body, 


252  A  FEARFUL  ADVE!NYTURE. 

and  to  move  by  his  will.  Such  wheeling,  running,  turn- 
ing, pursuing,  overtaking  and  facing  as  were  executed 
there  for  a  moment,  would  have  constituted  a  great  attrac- 
tion in  a  circus.  I  had  to  pick  up  a  branch,  and  thwack 
him  lustily  and  a  good  many  times,  before  he  would  go 
away.  Not  Thersites  himself  could  have  made  a  face  more 
kinked  with  disgust,  fear,  pleading,  and  craven  supplication. 

All  one  long  afternoon  I  walked  up,  through  the  pass, 
then  down  among  the  great  and  quiet  hills,  through  a  soli- 
tude as  deep  and  peaceful  as  the  Truce  of  God.  Even 
little  Bunny  himself,  weaned  two  days  ago,  though  play 
he  must,  jumped  about  and  threw  up  his  heels  as  softly  as 
he  could,  so  as  not  to  waken  his  father. 

On  the  great  plain  of  Warner's  Rancho  I  had  an  adven- 
ture that  threatened  to  be  pretty  serious.  There  was  a 
great  herd  of  Spanish  cattle  at  pasture,  which  seemed  never 
to  have  seen  a  pedestrian,  for  they  ran  after  me  in  multi- 
tudes, with  their  necks  stretched  up,  and  their  eyes  stand- 
ing out,  as  if  they  had  seen  a  ghost. 

The  first  thing  I  know  I  am  completely  surrounded,  and 
they  are  not  by  any  means  to  be  scared  away.  Really, 
this  is  rather  alarming.  They  surge  up  toward  me,  despite 
all  I  can  do,  and  their  long  and  shining  horns  stand  up 
around  me  like  a  forest.  They  snort,  they  sniff,  they  scrape 
the  ground.  And  now  the  space  around  me  is  hardly  a 
rod  wide.  Still  the  mighty  mass  crowds  closer  and  closer 
together.  As  a  last  desperate  resort  I  resolve,  as  soon  as 
they  come  quite  close,  to  leap,  if  possible,  on  one's  back. 
The  result  certainly  could  not  be  worse  than  to  remain  on 
the  ground. 

But  now,  to  my  infinite  relief,  I  see  a  Mexican  galloping 
to  the  rescue.  Hold !  If  he  rushes  on  them,  they  will 
stampede  over  me,  and  death  is  certain.  Ah !  he  under- 
stands that.  He  approaches  slowly,  he  yells,  he  swings 


RESCUED  BY  A  VAQUERO.  253 

his  arms.  The  attention  of  the  brutes  is  drawn,  and  they 
cease  crowding.  They  look  at  him,  they  begin  to  disperse, 
he  rides  to  my  side,  I  am  saved ! 

Thanks  !  my  friend,  many  thanks ! 

Seeing  he  was  a  common  vaquero,  I  thought  he  would 
accept  money,  and  offered  him  silver,  but  he  refused  it 
with  a  shake  of  the  head,  abstractedly.  In  the  whole  time 
he  was  with  me,  he  did  not  open  his  lips,  but  continued  to 
survey  me  with  undisguised  amazement.  A  footman 
appeared  to  be  as  strange  an  apparition  to  him  as  to  the 
cattle. 

Again  I  tramped  on  fifteen  miles  over  another  pass,  nor 
heard  a  human  voice.  Neither  was  there  one  good  splash 
of  water  over  rocks,  nor  even  a  healthy  chance  of  an  acci- 
dent, nor  any  other  thing  whatever,  save  an  easy,  endless 
roll  of  hills,  clad  in  "  this  vivid  incessant  green  "  of  cham- 
izal. 

Yet  many  of  these  hills  were  very  beautiful  in  those  soft 
September  days.  Away  up  on  the  mountains,  where  the 
gauzy  haze  in  the  morning  frosted  the  brown  and  cuir-col- 
ored  panicles  of  the  chamizal,  I  have  seen  little  sunny 
slopes  glow  with  a  warm  and  liquid  flush  of  purple,  delicious 
as  any  damson,  or  touch  of  Claude  Lorraine. 

Oak  Grove  describes  itself,  being  a  little  wooded  basin, 
beside  the  brook,  among  these  unfading  hills.  Here  I 
found  a  thoroughly  representative  Calif ornian,  of  the  class 
one  degree  higher  than  the  average  retired  miner.  He 
was  lying  in  luxurious  ease  in  an  elegant  hammock,  beneath 
a  vast  oak  tree,  close  beside  the  long  ranks  of  bee-hives. 
He  had  plenty  of  novels  and  magazines  scattered  about? 
and,  after  a  few  words  exchanged,  I  sat  down  and  read  an 
hour  in  a  newspaper.  In  all  that  time  he  did  not  once  even 
smile  over  his  Martin  Chuzlewit.  Think  of  that !  He 
was  not  above  twenty-five,,  and  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  won- 


254  A  REPRESENTATIVE  CALIFORNIA!*. 

derful  boy  Beckford,  with  all  his  heart  of  laughter  eaten 
out,  listless,  ineffably  wearied  and  disgusted  with  everything 
on  earth.  At  dinner  he  plumped  a  spoonful  of  squash  on 
his  plate  in  a  kind  of  dissatisfied,  dyspeptic  way,  as  if  he 
despised  himself  for  being  obliged  to  eat  squash,  or  any- 
thing else,  and  thrust  it  mechanically  and  rapidly  into  his 
mouth,  without  vouchsafing  a  single  word,  though  his  two 
charming  sisters  were  prattling  gaily  to  him  and  to  each 
other  all  the  while. 

There  was  plenty  of  silver  on  his  table,  and  the  daintiest 
of  all  possible  linen,  but  his  house  was  made  of  poles  stuck 
into  the  ground,  and  daubed  with  mud,  though  it  had  a 
shingled  roof.  His  fence  was  like  unto  himself.  It  was 
made  of  the  crookedest  stakes  anybody  can  think  of,  set  in 
a  most  unneighborly  way,  back  to  back,  like  a  row  of  peo- 
ple bowing  to  each  other,  leaving  a  lot  of  holes,  where  the 
dogs  popped  nimbly  through. 

A  trifling  but  amusing  incident  happened  in  this  fence. 
A  terrier  and  a  cat  were  gnawing  a  bone  in  the  road,  and 
for  some  time  appeared  to  dine  together  harmoniously. 
But  at  length  some  manner  of  contention  sprung  up,  and 
they  fell  to  quarreling.  Pussy  sat  on  her  haunches  for  a 
moment,  and  clawed  the  dog's  nose ;  but  she  was  upset 
backward  in  a  twinkling,  and  took  to  her  heels.  She  ran 
through  a  chink  which  was  too  small  for  the  terrier,  but  he 
was  so  furious  that  he  did  not  observe  that  fact.  His  head 
went  through,  but  his  shoulders  caught  fast,  and  his  hind 
parts  flew  up  against  the  stick,  where  his  tail  snapped  like 
a  whip-lash. 

From  this  pleasant  grove  and  these  sweet  pastures  of 
kine  and  of  bees,  again  long  miles  downward,  over  this 
green  and  hilly  wold.  The  clean  white  boulders  every- 
where stand  up  in  the  green  thickets,  trooping  along  the 
hillsides  like  walls,  or  perched  in  nests  on  the  shoulders  of 


A  GERMAN  SETTLEMENT.  255 

hillocks,  where  they  are  the  very  counterpart  of  the  white- 
walled  villas  which  nestle  around  the  fadeless  shores  of 
Lake  Como. 

And  here  on  the  San  Luis  Key  is  another  little  cove,  and 
a  whitewashed  German  cottage.  The  vast  live-oak,  with 
the  hives  on  the  ground  beneath,  is  the  universal  feature 
here.  Add  to  this  mighty  pumpkins,  great-bellied,  tran- 
quil cows,  waddling  home  from  the  hillsides,  willow-hedged 
gardens,  and  a  wattled  corrol,  full  of  all  manner  of  fowls, 
every  one  vociferously  talking  in  some  dialect  of  German. 

In  descending  from  the  tops  of  the  Coast  Range  to  the 
valley  of  the  Margarita,  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  Pacific, 
I  crossed  various  belts  of  vegetation,  which  paled  contin- 
ually as  I  went  lower.  The  mountains  are  everywhere 
greenest  on  top,  then  come  brown  and  sepia  tints,  hazel, 
cuir,  sage-color,  and  lastly  the  odious,  dust-colored  plain. 

Crouise  says  the  flowers  of  California  are  notably  scent- 
less. But  this  is  not  true,  at  least  of  the  herbs  which  grow 
in  these  little  brook  valleys,  for  the  very  atmosphere  is 
odorous  as  anise  and  fennel,  and  sweet  as  old  nepenthe. 
Thrust  your  hand  at  random  into  the  raggedest  stems  by 
the  roadside,  and  pluck,  and  you  shall  have  all  the  old  de- 
lightful aromas  of  the  garret,  where  mother  used  to  go  to 
get  herbs  for.  your  youthful  quinsies.  The  varieties  of 
sage,  mint,  and  rosemary  are  wonderful  for  their  multitude. 
The  mountain  air,  where  in  spring  all  sweet  things  bud 
with  sap  of  green  delights,  in  September  is  full  of  the  mu- 
sic of  bees  and  of  dulcet  medicines. 

Begging  the  reader's  pardon  for  its  animal  grossness,  I 
will  make  the  following  observation.  O  the  bread  and 
butter  that  I  have  eaten  in  these  hills,  with  the  honey 
poured  thereon,  lucid,  and  long,  and  luscious !  And  the 
milk  also. 

California  seems  to  be  much  like  Greece  in  scenery  and 


256  CALIFORNIAN  SCENERY  AND  LITERATURE. 

inspiration.  It  is  a  country  something  too  theatrical.  The 
glorious  brilliance  of  late  winter  and  spring  is  like  an 
actor  fired  by  the  applause  of  his  house ;  then  comes  the 
lassitude,  the  deadness  of  summer,  when  all  the  tendrils 
which  bind  the  soul  to  Nature  are  wilted,  and  the  poet  is 
driven  in  upon  his  own  imagination.  It  seems  as  if  the 
ultimate  literature  of  California  would  be,  like  that  of 
Greece,  rather  subjective  and  introspective  than  interpre- 
tative of  Nature.  The  Greeks  believed  themselves  pay- 
ing homage  to  Nature,  but  it  was  not  the  real ;  it  was 
only  the  stage  scenery,  invented  and  peopled  by  their  own 
exuberant  fancies.  They  had  no  rivers  but  what  rolled  down 
flowers  and  gold ;  no  forests  but  what  were  full  of  caper- 
ing Dryads.  They  did  not  give  themselves  up  to  Nature, 
but,  rather,  invested  everything  with  human  attributes. 

California  may  rear  edifices  of  enchantment,  like  Moore's, 
perfumed  all  through  with  cinnamon  and  sandal  wood ;  or 
dream  the  mystic  pictures  of  a  Longfellow ;  or  yield  some 
miracles  of  phrasing,  like  Tennyson ;  but  she  will  hardly 
hear  the  noble  organ-tones  of  a  Bryant,  or  produce  such 
an  hierophant  of  Nature  as  Wordsworth.  Burns  says : 

4  The  Muse  nae  Poet  ever  faud  her, 
Till  by  himsel'  he  learned  to  wander 
Adown  some  trotting  burn's  meander, 
And  no  think  lang." 

The  habitations  both  of  native  Californians  and  of 
Americans  in  these  parts  are  the  most  forlorn  that  can  be 
imagined.  A  mud-house  all  alone  in  the  middle  of  a  dusty 
looking  plain,  surrounded  by  various  horse-sheds,  corrols, 
styes,  etc.,  but  never  a  tree  planted,  nor  any  fence  erected. 
There  lived  in  Temecula  a  little  bullet-headed  American, 
whom  I  chanced  to  find  several  miles  from  his  house,  and 
thereupon,  with  the  hospitality  of  his  class,  he  offered  me 
a  ride,  and  when  he  found  I  could  not  accept,  he  positively 


Hr  HOST  AT  TEMECULA.  257 

insisted  on  hauling  my  little  stuff.  So  I  put  it  in — about 
three  pounds  in  weight — and  was  not  a  little  amused  at 
the  absurdity  of  the  thing. 

Arrived  at  his  home,  I  found  it  such  as  I  have  described. 
He  had  been  forty  years  in  California,  was  married  to  a 
charming,  little,  round-faced,  black-eyed  Spanish  woman, 
and  was  strongly  Spanish  in  his  sympathies.  She  was  a 
great  botanist,  he  told  me,  so  I  brought  a  large  handful  of 
sprigs  along.  She  was  in  a  peck  of  flutters  over  them, 
turned  them  this  way  and  that,  smelt  them  very  daintily, 
chewed  the  leaves,  pursed  up  her  little  mouth  like  a  bottle- 
cork,  whipped  away  every  other  minute  to  stir  something 
in  the  pot,  and — told  me  three-fourths  of  the  names  incor- 
rectly. 

In  the  morning  we  sat  down  to  the  everlasting  bread  and 
coffee  of  the  native  breakfast ;  strong  coffee,  without  milk 
or  sugar,  and  bread  without  butter.  There  were  two 
brothers  of  the  hostess  present,  men  who  spoke  very  cor- 
rect Spanish,  with  a  slight  Asturian  accent,  and  with  the 
Gothic  blue  blood  in  their  fine  faces,  which  were  almost 
white.  But  they  were  thoroughly  Celtic  in  their  gayety 
and  in  their  merry  laughter,  wherein  they  appeared  to 
great  advantage  beside  my  impassive  countryman.  He 
toiled  hard  after  them  with  his  laborious  Spanish,  but  his 
tongue  was  very  thick,  compared  with  theirs,  and  his  ges- 
tures very  mechanical,  and  he  smiled  like  a  horse.  In 
everything  which  he  could  control  he  had  made  himself 
as  Spanish  as  he  could. 

From  Temecula  I  passed  up  through  a  vast  valley,  or 
strip  of  plain,  to  La  Laguna.  The  fading  grass  on  the 
western  line  of  its  foothills  had  covered  them  as  with 
Gobelin  tapestries.  The  brightness  of  their  colors  passes 
all  description. 

The  lake  at  the  top  of  this  valley  is  beautiful  in  itself  as 


258  A  SILENT  MEXICAN. 

Lake  Lucerne,  but  it  has  mean  settings.  All  the  gorgeous 
calico  foothills  are  snipped  off,  and  leave  the  beautiful  lake 
surrounded  by  dusty-red  hills,  which  are  glassed  in  its  pale 
green  rim.  On  one  side  were  many  large  willows,  and  it 
was  very  curious  to  see  some  of  them  growing  thriftily 
many  rods  out  in  the  water. 

There  lived  here  a  huge,  corpulent  Mexican,  who  was 
distinguished  for  saying  nothing.  He  received  me  with  a 
shake  of  the  hand,  a  nod,  and  a  pleasant  smile.  He  went 
away,  then  presently  returned,  nudged  me  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  nodded  his  head  up,  to  signify  that  I  should  fol- 
low. At  the  end  of  the  veranda,  whose  floor  was  the 
ground,  there  was  a  little  closet,  and  in  it  a  counter,  a 
shelf,  and  one  lone  bottle  of  whiskey.  He  poured  out  a 
thimbleful,  and  handed  it  to  me  without  a  word.  Then 
he  took  some  himself,  looked  at  me,  smiled,  and  said  noth- 
ing. He  had  a  shingled  roof,  an  American  plow  and  a 
harrow,  and  he  seemed  to  think  that,  to  sustain  the  dignity 
of  these  things,  it  was  necessary  he  should  "  treat "  with 
an  American  drink.  In  the  twelve  hours  I  was  there  he 
did  not  utter  an  audible  word  to  his  family. 

In  the  evening  I  lay  down  on  a  dried  ox-hide.  The 
moon  rose  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake,  and,  shining 
down  from  the  hills  upon  the  water,  suffused  all  the  air 
with  a  pale  pea-green  radiance,  as  if  the  lake,  as  Catullus 
says  of  his  beloved  Benaens,  had  drunk  down  the  daylight^ 
and  was  giving  it  forth  again,  tinged  with  its  own  won- 
derful hues.  Then  somebody  twitched  my  shoulder  and 
said,  "  Senor,  senor,  get  up  to  coffee." 

A  whole  night  had  that  mild-eyed  thief  purloined  ! 

I  will  end  this  chapter  with  a  visit  to  an  old  Californian, 
one  of  the  "  Forty-niners,"  as  they  call  themselves,  who 
has  retired  from  mining,  taken  up  a  quarter  section  of 
land,  and  gone  to  "  ranching."  He  may  stay  on  this  farm 


VISIT  TO  A  FORTY-NINER.  259 

ten  years ;  lie  will  probably  stay  on  it  ten  months,  then 
sell  it  at  four  dollars  an  acre,  "  and  the  improvements  at  a 
valuation."  It  shall  be  in  Temescal  Canyon,  which  is  a 
deep,  narrow  valley  among  green  mountains. 

He  has  one  little  field,  half  hedged  with  willows,  half 
fenced  with  poles,  which  is  full  of  maize,  dried  so  rigidly 
stiff  that  it  hangs  down  its  blades  like  swords,  and  hardly 
nickers  at  all  in  the  wind,  though  its  three,  four,  five  ears 
stand  stoutly  up  on  every  stalk.  A  little  irrigating  ditch 
runs  along  the  roadside  a  mile,  and  creeps  through  the  wil- 
low hedge.  A  great  sycamore  stands  over  his  cabin,  and 
is,  in  these  days,  sadly  letting  go  leaf  after  leaf  to  rock 
and  wheel  in  many  a  melancholy  circle  to  the  ground. 
There  is  no  fence  about  his  house  ;  no  shrubbery  ;  nothing 
but  the  forlorn  wood-yard  in  front,  with  a  few  gnarly  bil- 
lets of  oak,  which  he  and  his  Mexican  wife  have  pecked  at  a 
hundred  times  in  the  vain  attempt  to  split,  to  the  great 
peril  of  her  bare  toes,  and  a  rusty  ax  half  buried  in  the 
chips ;  and  in  the  rear  of  the  house  jungles  of  sunflowers, 
all  ripped  and  twisted  by  the  pestered  cattle. 

The  whole  valley  is  now  utterly  parched  and  dry,  ragged 
with  flaunting  skeletons  of  gigantic  weeds  and  mustard, 
odiously  dusty,  with  nothing  green  to  look  upon,  except 
the  tops  of  the  mountains,  and  the  live  oaks  here  and 
there,  which  look  so  strangely  and  darkly  lustrous  amid 
this  hideousness. 

All  around  his  house,  within  five  rods  of  it,  and  every- 
where in  the  valley  where  there  is  a  piece  of  ground  as 
wide  as  your  hat,  a  ground  squirrel  has  his  hole  and  his 
little  mound.  The  whole  earth  is  honey-combed  by  them. 
Whenever  I  approach  an  oak,  they  hustle  and  tumble  out 
of  it  in  myriads,  with  their  cheeks  full  of  acorns,  and  the 
ground  swarms  with  them,  as  with  rats. 

He  has  shingles  on  his  adobe  hut,  and  that  is  a  great 


260  PETER  QUARTZ'S  ADVENTURES.1. 

deal  in  this  country.  Underneath  these  shingles — for  we 
can  look  right  up  to  them — we  sit  between  the  cool,  bare 
mud-walls,  on  some  stools.  Peter  Quartz  is  his  name  ;  an 
oldish  man,  with  a  long  face,  and  exceedingly  round-shoul- 
dered, from  sitting  so  much  in  camps  without  a  chair.  He 
wears  his  hat  in  the  house.  After  some  circumlocution, 
he  begins  the  story  of  his  California  mining  experiences. 

"  I  come  to  Californy  from  Pike  County  in  old  Missouri, 
in  '49.  When  I  got  to  the  Timber  Toes  Diggins,  I  hadn't 
nary  cent  left.  The  first  night  I  hadn't  no  blanket  and  no 
tent,  and  my  har  froze  fast  in  the  mud,  and  in  the  mornin' 
I  jumped  up  sorter  quick,  and  jerked  out  a  handful  of  har. 

"  I  went  to  work  in  them  diggings  first  fur  another  man, 
at  ten  dollars  a  day,  an'  found.  I  worked  hard  all  winter, 
and  lived  on  promissory  beef  and  knuckle  grease ;  and  in 
the  spring  it  all  fizzled  plumb  out,  and  I  never  got  nary 
cent  of  my  wages. 

"  Howsomedever,  I  had  my  pick,  shovel,  and  pan  left, 
so  I  went  sluicin'  up  to  Catnip  Creek.  In  eight  months  I 
had  my  stake  made  ;  nigh  onto  $7,000  clean  dust.  '  Well,' 
says  I  to  myself,  says  I,  'now  you'd  better  just  cut  tracks, 
Pete  Quartz,  and  leave  hyur,  while  you've  got  the  robin 
by  the  tail,  least  it  slips  away,  and  you  never  gits  a  chance 
to  put  salt  onto't  again.'  But  I  see  a  feller,  just  the  night 
I  was  packin'  up  fur  to  leave,  as  had  a  mighty  smart  chance 
of  maps,  and  a  claim,  which  he  said  was  a  pay  in'  one 
thousand  dollars  a  week  clur.  He  had  to  hurry  home  to 
his  dyin'  mother,  he  said,  and  he  offered,  seein'  it  was  me, 
an'  he  had  to  sacrifice  everything  to  take  my  pile  fur  it, 
though  he  vowed  'twas  worth  ten  thousand  dollars  clur.  I 
paid  him  the  pile,  kinder  pityin'  him  like,  but  thinkin  to 
myself  'twas  a  good  trade,  and  went  to  work,  and  in  four 
weeks  it  busted  the  riffle  onto  me  agin.  'Twasn't  worth 
nothin',  and  the  feller  knowed  it. 


A  MINER'S  STORY. 

"  But  I  lied  a  shanty  and  a  lot  of  grub  left,  and  I  traded 
them  fur  a  mule,  aimin'  fur  to  go  up  to  Hard  Scrabble 
Gulch,  whar  I  heerd  thar  was  a  right  smart  lay-out.  But 
that  very  night  the  cussed,  wall-eyed  mule  fell  down  a 
gulch,  and  broke  its  neck. 

Then  I  started  fur  to  walk  thar,  'long  with  Jake  Cum- 
away.  Jake  was  mighty  down-hearted  'bout  his  children 
he  hed  left,  and  he  jest  poked  along  all  the  time  behind 
me,  with  his  head  in  the  dust.  Says  I,  i  Jake,  don't  crawl 
along  behind  me  like  a  dog  all  the  time,  but  come  up  hyur 
Alongside,  and  hold  up  yer  head  like  a  man.  But  he  paid 
no  'tention,  and  kept  pokin'  along  in  the  dust.  He  was 
clean  broke  down,  thinkin'  'bout  his  children ;  and  one 
night,  when  we  laid  rolled  up  together,  I  heerd  Jake  moan, 
and  I  shuk  him,  but  he  never  answered  me  agin.  'Pears 
like  'twas  the  gloomiest  night  I  ever  see,  settin'  up  thar 
alone  with  Jake,  in  them  dismal  roarin'  pines.  In  the 
mornin'  soon  as  'twas  light,  and  I  felt  safe  like,  I  jest  broke 
clean  down,  and  wanted  to  lay  down  and  die.  But  I  dug 
a  hole  in  the  sand,  and  give  poor  Jake  the  best  buryin'  I 
could. 

"  I  seed  Jake's  little  children,  when  I  had  made  a  stake 
agin,  and  I  gin  'em  enough,  and  put  it  in  bank,  fur  to  keep 
'em  till  they  was  of  age. 

"After  Jake  died,  I  hedn't  no  heart  to  do  nothin'  fur 
nigh  about  a  year.  Last  I  went  to  figgerin'  roun'  agin, 
workin'  day's-works,  and  got  me  a  hoss,  fur  to  go  up  to 
Idaho.  I  traded  him  fur  a  claim  up  thar,  worked  it  ten 
days,  and  didn't  strike  nothin',  and  then  sole  it  for  a  month's 
grub.  In  less  than  a  week  the  fellar  that  bought  it  struck 
pay-dirt,  and  sole  out  fur  $17,000 ! 

"  I  eat  up  all  my  grub,  prospectin'  round,  doin'  nothin' ; 
then  I  set  out  agin,  and  footed  it  back  to  Californy.  Thar 
I  fell  in  with  Bill  Migler,  an  ole  friend  of  mine. 


262  A  MINER'S  STORY. 

""We  was  clean  down  to  the  bottom,  an'  flat  on  our 
backs.  We  had  to  patch  our  pantaloons  with  these  self- 
risin'  flour-sacks,  that  makes  the  people  over  in  Utah  call 
the  Calif ornians  '  self-risers ;'  and  Bill  an'  me  hed  only 
three  shirts  betwixt  us,  but  we  kept  the  odd  one  clean,  so 
we  could  wash  and  change  once  in  a  while.  After  a  spell 
me  and  him  tuk  up  a  claim,  and  that  summer  we  tuk  out 
$23,000  apiece. 

"  I  was  a  gettin'  mighty  tired  of  prospectin'  about  and 
livin'  hard ;  so  I  jest  bought  fourteen  sheers  in  the  Consol. 
idated  Toukaway  Quartz  Crushing  Company,  and  then  sot 
into  the  hotel,  and  picked  my  teeth  as  large  as  life.  But 
things  went  agin  me,  as  usual,  and  in  four  months  the  Con- 
solidated Toukaway  went  clean  up  the  spout.  Then  I 
jest  throwed  up,  and  come  down  hyur,  plumb  disgusted, 
and  poorer  than  I  was  when  I  begun,  for  now  I've  lost  all 
my  har,  with  worritin'  and  frettin'. 

"  But  I  kinder  hanker  all  the  time  to  go  back  agin,  and 
I  would  ef  I  wasn't  mahried.  Them  miners  was  the  best 
men  I  ever  see,  anyhow.  Many's  the  time  I've  seed  a  po' 
fellar,  with  a  woolen  shirt  onto  him,  asked  in  and  got  a 
good  square  meal  give  to  him ;  but  the  feller  with  a  biled 
shirt,  he  was  let  go  along.  A  feller  with  his  breeches 
patched  with  flour-sacks,  he  was  'never  turned  away." 

There  is  a  story  told  by  Californians  which  is  illustrative 
of  early  mining  times.  It  is  said  that  a  certain  preacher 
found  his  way  to  a  mining  camp,  and  began  to  labor  for 
the  salvation  of  immortal  souls.  But  mammon,  women, 
wine,  and  gaming  held  control  over  the  minds  of  men  in 
those  wicked  parts,  and  the  unfortunate  minister  not  only 
failed  to  reap  any  spiritual  harvest  of  his  labors,  but  carnal 
things  also  began  soon  to  be  sadly  lacking.  In  short  he 
got  entirely  out  of  money.  Then  the  miners,  with  true 
Californian  generosity,  made  him  up  a  purse  of  $600,  to 
enable  him  to  reach  some  more  favorable  region. 


A  PREACHER'S  EXPEREEXCES.  2(53 

But,  alas !  for  human  nature,  the  unfortunate  minister 
had  departed  from  the  ways  that  are  right,  through  the 
force  of  bad  example,  and  in  an  evil  hour  he  yielded  to 
the  seductions  of  the  monte  bank,  and  staked  his  money. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  in  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  he 
saw  the  last  dollar  of  it  slide  from  his  hands.  At  this 
stage  of  the  procedings,  the  heart  of  the  monte-dealer  re- 
lented within  him.  He  proposed  to  the  unhappy  man  of 
God  that  he  should  offer  up  prayers  in  his  behalf,  to  the 
value  of  $600.  He  consented,  a  bargain  was  forthwith 
struck,  the  first  installment  of  the  money  was  promptly 
deposited,  and  the  minister  engaged  in  prayer.  Not  more 
earnestly  and  eloquently  did  Parson  Sampson  wrestle  before 
the  throne  of  grace,  when  he  was  in  the  presence  of  the 
Countess  Yarmouth-Walmoden,  who,  he  hoped,  would 
procure  him  a  benefice  from  the  king.  In  fine,  the  prayer 
was  so  protracted,  earnest,  and,  doubtless,  so  thoroughly 
repentant,  that  the  monte-dealer  said  he  would  consider  it 
an  equivalent  for  the  entire  sum,  which  he  at  once  turned 
over  to  the  contrite  minister. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
WINE  IN  DEY  YALLEYS. 

may  journey  seven  hundred  miles  west  of  the 
Mississippi,  across  the  majestic  rivers  of  Louisiana 
'and  Texas,  and  still  the  people,  when  they  speak  of 
"  the  river,"  mean  the  Father  of  Waters.  So  in  California, 
in  regard  to  the  Colorado.  The  Santa  Ana  is  the  largest 
of  all  the  streams  of  Southern  California,  but  it  is  only  a 
few  inches  of  water,  spread  evenly  over  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
of  sand — shining  like  a  girdle  of  silver  in  a  weary  land. 

After  crossing  this  river,  and  entering  upon  the  vast 
Chino  plains,  the  traveler  sees  an  amusing  spectacle.  The 
dust-colored  earth  is  covered  with  the  tiny  mounds  of  the 
ground  squirrel.  This  animal  is  gray,  about  the  size  of 
the  Eastern  tree-squirrel,  and  has  a  long  bush.  He  forms 
a  partnership  with  a  little  owl,  smaller  than  that  which 
thrusts  himself  on  the  prairie-dog,  will-he,  nill-he,  and  with 
far  more  honorable  ideas  of  business  transactions.  You 
can  often  see  one  standing  sentry  at  a  hole,  while  the  squir- 
rel roams  far  abroad,  foraging ;  now  scudding  through  the 
vast  white  brakes  of  the  dead  mustard,  with  his  tail  whip- 
ping among  the  stalks  ;  now  backing  along,  drawing  after 
him  with  his  fore  paws  one  of  the  little  yellow  gourds  of 
the  calabacilla ;  now  sitting  pertly  up  on  his  haunches,  with 
a  clover-burr  in  his  hands,  nibbling  it  with  such  bewitching 
cunning  in  his  countenance. 

This  owl  can  see  well  in  daylight,  but  he  does  not  sound 
the  alarm  till  you  approach  pretty  near.  Then  away  whips 


ABOUT  BLACKBIRDS.  265 

little  Bunny,  carrying  Ids  tail  along,  for  the  most  part  on 
a  horizontal ;  but  every  rod  or  so  it  flies  up  straight,  and 
he  is  certain  to  erect  it  with  a  gay  flourish  just  as  he  dives 
into  his  hole. 

Sometimes  the  owl  stands  by,  and  superintends  the  la- 
bor of  digging.  The  squirrel  works  away,  scraping  and 
dredging  out  his  hole,  backing  up  and  hauling  up  the  earth 
writh  his  fore-paws  ;  then  he  stands  erect,  and  flings  it  out 
in  a  constant  shower  between  his  hind-legs.  The  owl  looks 
on  approvingly,  and  sustains  him  in  the  arduous  labor  by 
the  smiles  of  his  countenance.  Once  in  a  w^hile  he  stoops, 
and  brings  his  gizzard,  or  his  crop  rather,  clear  down  to 
the  ground,  as  if  to  take  in  a  very  long  breath ;  then  he 
straightens  up  quick,  with  a  sharp  screech,  "  Go  it !" 

These  squirrels  are  the  pest  of  farms.  They  eat  up 
everything.  The  farmer  has  to  surround  his  barley-fields 
with  a  cordon  of  strychnine-pots,  or  he  gets  no  good  of 
his  labor. 

What  myriads  of  blackbirds  circle  and  sweep  in  the 
dusty  fields,  or  perch  in  the  little  willows  by  the  tules.  I 
think  our  common  blackbird  is  the  most  thoroughly  rep- 
resentative American  bird  we  have;  he  is  so  practical,  so 
straight-forward,  so  business-like,  so  intent  upon  the  "  main 
chance."  It  has  a  better  right  to  fly  over  the  armies  and 
navies  of  the  Republic  than  the  ravenous  thief  which  now 
perches  there.  "What  does  the  eagle  know  of  purchase  or 
of  peaceable  annexation  ?  It  has  served  every  nation  of 
robbers  and  plunderers  of  provinces,  from  Home  down 
to  Austria,  and  flaunts  itself  to-day  at  the  head  of  modern 
European  Chauvinism,  and  has  its  image  stamped  on  that 
assassin  of  liberty,  the  needle-gun.  The  flight  and  the 
robberies  of  the  eagle  are  almost  world-wide,  and  such  did 
Home  and  Austria  seek  to  make  their  empires.  But  let 
us,  for  the  boundaries  of  our  commercial  Republic — for  we 
12 


206  A  NIGHT  WITH  A  MEXICAN. 

are  neither  the  Romans,  nor  yet  the  Greeks  of  the  modern 
world,  but  the  Phenicians — take  the  practical  blackbird 
for  our  guide.  He  does  not  fly  widely  over  Mexico,  but 
likes  Canada  pretty  well.  It  might  be  well,  perhaps,  for 
single  races  of  men  to  spread  themselves  no  wider  across 
the  track  of  the  sun  than  do  the  races  of  birds,  for  with 
the  sun  runs  the  course  of  strong  and  homogeneous 
empire. 

One  night  I  staid  with  a  Mexican,  who  had  a  great  heap 
of  maize  ears  beside  his  house,  and  several  Indians  husking 
it.  In  the  night  they  slept  on  the  husks,  in  a  kind  of  shed 
under  my  window,  and  one  of  them  was  taken  violently 
ill,  and  about  daybreak  he  died.  It  was  one  of  the  saddest 
sights  I  ever  witnessed.  Converted  from  the  faith  of  his 
ancestors,  he  was  not  well-grounded  in  the  new  religion, 
and  in  his  dying  agony  he  seemed  to  doubt  them  both, 
and  gather  consolation  from  neither.  In  the  anguish  of 
his  uncertainty  and  of  his  delirium,  he  continually  tossed 
from  side  to  side,  and  moaned,  "Ay,  Dios  mio /"  "^ly, 
Senor  sacramental  /"  "  Ay,  Dios  tnio  /"  and  then  again 
he  would  mutter  something  in  his  native  tongue.  All 
night  long  his  piteous  wailing  came  up  ;  but  toward  morn- 
ing it  grew  rapidly  feebler,  and,  as  I  looked  out  of  my 
window  at  the  first  streak  of  dawn,  I  saw  his  comrades,  in 
the  feeble  light  of  the  shed,  bending  over  him  in  stricken 
silence. 

In  the  upper  part  of  the  Chino  plains  there  were  some 
of  those  wonderfully  brilliant  foothills  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, which  well-nigh  drive  me  to  despair  when  I  attempt 
a  description. 

"  Nature  dies  hard  in  California.  She  does  not  linger 
in  the  hectic  beauty  of  an  Eastern  autumn,  but  fights,  inch 
by  inch,  as  she  withers  upward,  in  the  long,  dry  summer, 
retreating  from  the  plain  to  the  foothills."  In  that  great 


CALIFORNIA  SCEXERY  IX  AUTUMN.  267 

ebb  and  flow  of  colors  which  distinguishes  California  above 
most  other  countries,  the  green  of  the  mountains  settles 
down  o^ver  all  the  land,  like  a  heaven  of  clouds,  in  Novem- 
ber ;  but  in  May  the  color  begins  to  desert  the  plains,  and 
leaves  them  utterly  odious,  but  changes  in  the  foothills, 
like  a  dying  dolphin,  into  more  splendors  than  can  be 
described. 

It  is  a  strange,  foreign-looking  region,  is  this  valley  of 
the  San  Jose.  You  can  see  no  mountains  ;  nothing  but 
the  treeless  valley,  of  vast  extent,  bounded  by  round,  burly 
knolls.  Here  and  there  one  has  a  bright  dwarf-walnut  on 
its  slope,  or  covers  its  head  with  a  patch  of  cactus,  which, 
at  a  distance,  looks  like  a  green  velvet  skull-cap  on  the 
crown  of  some  old  Franciscan  friar. 

What  a  world  of  fatness  yearly  runs  to  waste  in  this 
almost  fathomless  brown  adobe!  The  vine  roots  pene- 
trate it  eighteen  feet,  and  even  at  that  depth  are  surfeited 
and  palled  with  richness.  A  farmer  showed  me  a  well, 
twenty-six  feet  deep,  to  the  very  bottom  of  which  a  peach- 
tree,  of  only  six  years  growth,  had  already  sent  a  tap-root 
as  large  as  one's  thumb  ! 

California  has  not  the  slightest  material  for  an  Indian 
summer,  as  Hawthorne  describes  it,  with  "its  pensive 
glory  in  the  far  golden  gleams  among  the  long  shadows  of 
the  trees."  But  this  tender  lilac  haze  is  its  tropical  equiv- 
alent, and  breathes  over  the  land  an  influence,  not  dreamy, 
tranquil  and  pensive,  like  that  beautiful  summer  of  our 
East,  but  has  in  it  a  suggestiveness  of  Grecian  genius,  as 
it  were  an  exquisitely  tender  and  subtle  spirit  of  earth, 
which  gave  breath  to  the  old  autochthones.  When  her 
gorgeous  summer  slowly  fades  into  nothingness,  and  the 
beauty  of  California  turns  to  the  hideous  pallor  of  death, 
there  seems  yet  to  linger  over  her  face  an  aureola,  like  the 
soul  of  a  dying  saint,  or  some  sweet  breath  of  resignation, 


268  COURTING  A  TEXAN  GIRL. 

wlii  eli  makes  those  sunken  features  still  dearer  to  the  be- 
holders. And  in  the  years  of  her  anguish  and  trembling, 
as  in  1868,  this  presence  is  still  more  plainly  felt,  as  if 
California  piteously  pleaded  with  her  children  for  sympa- 
thy. 

On  this  great  plain,  brown- colored  with  the  thick 
carpeting  of  dead  clover,  droves  of  horses,  sleek,  and  glossy, 
and  round,  roam  up  and  down,  and  gather  the  clover-burrs. 
At  the  unwonted  sight  of  a  footman,  they  scour  away, 
with  heads  and  tails  gayly  aloft,  stop  at  a  distance  and 
reconnoiter,  and  snort,  and  prance,  bending  their  limber 
legs  so  lighty  that  they  seem  to  bounce  on  a  spring 
mattrass.  Ha !  the  colts,  how  they  caper  and  frolic,  and 
stand  up  on  their  hind  legs,  fencing  and  cuffing  each  other  ! 
They  could  turn  somersaults  on  this  soft  bed,  like  country 
boys  in  a  hay-mow,  and  never  crack  their  necks. 

Near  El  Monte  I  passed  a  house,  in  front  of  which  there 
were  thirteen  horses  tied  to  the  rack.  I  went  in  to  get  a 
drink,  and  saw  so  great  a  solemnity  upon  the  visages,  that 
I  thought  there  must  be  a  funeral  in  progress.  But  when 
I  asked  the  boy,  he  told  me,  with  much  giggling  and 
ducking  of  his  head  into  his  shoulders,  that  they  were  all 
courting  his  sister  Roxy.  Then  I  became  amused,  and, 
prowling  about  the  crack  of  the  door,  contrived  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  lady.  She  was  a  Texan  girl,  with  one  of 
those  snow-white  puffy  faces,  which  look  as  if  they  would 
collapse  if  kissed  ardently,  but  which,  when  they  many 
and  leave  off  their  silly  skittislmess,  soon  wrinkle,  and 
often  develop  an  energy  like  a  tiger's,  upon  occasions. 
She  sat  in  one  of  the  two  rooms  of  the  house,  with  one  of 
her  suitors. 

One  of  the  "  outs"  was  intent  on  the  crack  of  the  door. 
He  would  squint  through  at  her  with  one  eye,  then  with 
tho  other.  Then  he  would  try  to  look  through  with  both 


KOXY'S  SUITORS. 


ROXY  AND  HER  SUITORS.  269 

eyes  at  once,  dodging  backward  and  forward,  and  looking 
ludicrously  cross-eyed.  At  last  a  happy  thought  struck 
him.  He  bent  his  head  to  one  side,  aligned  his  two  eyes 
with  the  crack,  and  got  such  an  overwhelming  impression 
of  her  charms  that  he  sighed  deeply,  and  dropped  a  tear 
from  one  of  his  eyes.  Then  another  pulled  him  away,  and 
looked  in.  They  all  waited  patiently  for  their  turns  at 
the  crack,  and  I  took  mine  also. 

"  Are  you  a  settler  in  these  parts,  stranger  ?  "  asked  one, 
after  he  had  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot. 

"  No  ;  but  I  intend  to  take  up  a  quarter-section." 

"  Well,  sir,  'less  you're  pre-empted  already,  you  haint  got 
no  right  to  look  through  that  'ar  crack,  interruptin'  actual 
settlers." 

Poor  fellow !  he  viewed  with  great  disfavor  the  prospect 
of  his  thirteenth  chance  being  reduced  to  a  fourteenth. 

In  autumn  El  Monte  is  an  oasis  in  the  mighty  desert  of 
dead  clover.  There  was  a  little  circle  of  farms  around  it, 
creeping  timidly  out  upon  the  plain,  and  I  seemed  to  be, 
after  so  many  hundreds  of  miles  in  semi-barbarism,  once 
more  in  a  scene  of  civilized  life,  with, 

"  Alle  manere  of  men,  the  mene  and  theriche, 
Werchynge  and  wandrynge  ;" 

but  chiefly  wandering.  I  was  surprised  at  the  number  of 
lusty  tramps  whom  I  met,  moping  doggedly  along  in  the 
road,  with  a  roll  of  blankets  on  their  shoulders.  They 
always  had  one  and  the  same  story  to  tell,  which  I  listened 
to  at  first  for  information,  but  I  soon  grew  weary  of  it. 
But  now  at  last  I  approached  the  great  goal  of  my 
desires — Los  Angeles.  As  I  stood  upon  the  San  Gabriel 
terrace,  the  steeples  and  tops  of  the  little  city  barely 
loomed  above  the  orchards ;  and  not  all  the  fabulous 
glories  and  the  gardens  of  Damascus,  "  Pearl  of  the  East," 
could  have  been  sweeter  to  the  eyes  of  Mohammed,  just 


270  THE  CITY  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

emerging  from  the  desert,  than  were  those  of  the  river 
and  city  of  the  Angels  to  mine. 

First,  before  I  plunge  in  medias  res,  I  am  going  to  give 
a  brief  description  of  the  surroundings ;  and  then,  if,  in 
that  week  I  spent  with  Jim,  among  all  the  dips  and  dives 
we  made  into  the  gardens,  the  orchards  the  wine-vaults, 
and  the  other  tropical  glories,  we  wander  out  at  times  into 
daylight  and  a  state  of  consciousness,  I  will  chronicle  the 
circumstances,  and  the  impressions  received. 

The  valley  of  the  Los  Angeles  proper  is  scarcely  more 
than  half  a  mile  in  width,  and  meanders  down  from  the 
Santa  Susana  mountains,  hazy  and  dim  thirty  miles  away, 
through  a  plain  which  is  shivered  into  knobs.  Sahara 
itself  could  not  be  more  a  desert  in  October,  and  not  on 
earth  could  a  streak  of  orange  groves  and  vineyards  shine 
more  brilliantly  green  adown  the  middle. 

I  entered  the  city  near  the  little,  old,  mean,  Spanish 
quarter,  with  its  red-tiled  adobes,  and  straightway  fled 
out  of  it  to  avoid  the  horrible  dust.  I  wist  not  where 
to  go.  I  strolled  down  little  alleys,  fenced  with  gigantic 
canes,  or  with  willows  which  hid  the  heavens,  or  with 
queer,  old,  Spanish  hedges  of  cactus ;  through  gates  left 
in  Eden-like  simplicity  unguarded  ;  across  frowsy  gardens, 
where  all  manner  of  weeds  twisted  themselves  in  their 
riotous  rankness,  and  castor-oil  plants  shook  out  their 
leaves  in  every  hedge-row ;  and  through  orchards,  whose 
yellow  and  fragrant  fruits  of  every  variety  that  grows 
above  the  tropics,  smirked  upon  green  boughs,  or  wasted 
their  quality  in  the  rank  and  tangled  grass. 

At  last  I  got  somewhere, — I  don't  know  where  it 
was — and  found  plenty  of  pears  under  a  tree,  of  which 
the  owner  invited  me  to  partake.  We  ate  them  under  the 
tree,  where  they  should  be  eaten,  and  not  amid  the  cold 
glitter  of  silver  knives  and  clink  of  dessert  plates.  After 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  WINE  CELLARS.  271 

living  for  uVo  months  on  bread  and  beef  I  could  only  eat 
0.13,  it  was  so  big,  so  pulpy  and  so  luscious. 

In  company  with  Jim,  I  visited  one  of  the  wine  cellars 
of  Los  Angeles.  We  wandered  about  through  a  cavern- 
ous gloom,  along  mouldering  alleys  brooded  over  by 
eternal  solitude,  among  the  tuns,  whose  huge  circumfer- 
ence, in  the  light  of  the  candle,  smiled  at  us  a  solemn 
smile,  and  dapper  barrels  atop,  whose  little  cheeks  were 
full  of  smirks  and  grimaces. 

Clink !  A  bottle  bursting  on  the  rack,  in  its  swelling 
rag3  spits  the  shords  across  the  alley.  Here  and  there  a 
hoary  cobweb  streamer,  like  the  beard  of  some  ancient 
monk  at  prayer,  swayed  with  a  gentle  motion  as  we  passed, 
as  if  muttering  at  our  intrusion;  and  the  light  of  the 
candle  glistened  on  spots  of  dampness,  which  seemed  to  be 
great  eyes,  glowering  at  us  wrathfully  from  the  walls. 

When  we  returned  to  the  pleasant  light  of  day,  there  stood 
a  row  of  bumpers,  beaming  in  moist  expectancy. 

"  Quern  Venus  arbitrum 
Dicet  bibendi?" 

Who  brings  the  myrtle,  and  the  chaplets  of  celery,  and 
the  roast  peacock  ?  Where  are  the  conchs  of  perfumes, 
and  the  vases  of  roses  around  the  room,  and  the  cool  ver- 
milion frescoes  ?  Where  the  reclining  guests,  whose 
flowing  locks  glisten  with  Syrian  unguents  ?  Where  the 
fountain,  and  the  splendid  lilies,  out  in  the  court  ? 

But  we  have  here  no  longer  immortal  Fabruian,  or  com- 
mon Sabine.  Bring  Angelica,  the  golden  liquor,  and 
silvery  Paderon  Blanco,  and  rosy  Cocomango,  and  Sono- 
ma's  sunny  wine,  and  sweet  juice  of  Anaheim  1 

Which  will  you  take?  Angelica  or  Sonoma?  The 
Sonoma  has  a  false  and  delusive  sparkle,  as  it  lies  there  in 
its  crisp  and  tender  pallor ;  and  as  you  lift  it  before  you, 
within  the  frosted  rim,  a  cool  and  delicious  shiver  creeps 
around  your  heart-strings ;  but  Angelica  flows  with  an 


272  LIFE  IX  LOS  ANGELES. 

indescribably  smooth,  creamy  and  mellifluous  mellowness, 
which,  beginning  about  the  porches  of  your  intellect,  pours 
down  through  all  your  marrow  a  serene  mesmerism  of  peace. 
The  former  is  an  icy  and  heartless  blonde,  brilliant,  fragile, 
sweetly  tremulous  in  her  ethereal  beauty  ;  but  Angelica  is 
your  ripe  beauty  of  the  South,  with  her  soft  "  brown  hair 
just  lighted  with  gold,"  through  whose  languishing  eyes 
you  can  look  into  a  soul  full  of  all  gracious  tenderness. 
You  choose  the  latter.  It  is  well.  Leave  the  Sonoma  to 
boys,  and  to  eaters  of  cheese  and  mustard ;  Angelica  is  for 
iiner  souls. 

To  California ; — land  of  golden  sunsets,  of  golden  hills, 
and  of  golden  mines ;  land  of  the  ardent  dreams  of  our 
youth,  and  of  the  perfection  of  our  American  manhood ; — 
we  drink  this  golden  wine. 

If  anything  unusual  happened  in  Los  Angeles  while  I 
was  there,  I  am  not  aware  thereof.  Indeed,  I  am  not 
certain  whether  I  staid  a  week,  or  two  weeks.  All  the 
people  are  such  nice  people,  so  frank,  so  free,  so  generous, 
and  all  the  while  riding  up  and  down  in  gorgeous  buggies, 
bowing  and  smiling.  You  can  buy  lots  on  every  street 
corner  for  nothing,  and  sell  them  for  never  so  much  money 
and  get  rich  in  an  hour,  or — the  other  thing.  Everybody 
is  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  jumps  over  the  counter  to  shake 
hands,  and  wants  to  sell  you  some  lots. 

It  is  true,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  dust  in  the  streets ; 
but  that  helps  to  suppress  the  flies.  The  flies  are  very 
numerous  in  the  restaurants — very  numerous  indeed ;  but 
then  you  can  keep  them  out  of  your  wine  by  drinking  it. 
The  waiter  with  the  very  imposing  mustache,  and  hair 
parted  in  the  middle,  sitting  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  slippers 
with  his  feet  high  above  his  head  on  the  counter,  may  wait 
on  you,  or  may  not ;  but  you  can  help  yourself.  There 
are  some  rows  of  low  dens,  with  continuous  awnings  all 


SOCRATES  HYACINTH  IX  TROUBLE.  273 

along,  Southern  fashion,  filled  with  Mexicans,  and  with 
Ah  See,  Hop  Lee,  Sum  Bung  and  Jim  Long ;  but  they 
turn  out  pretty  clean  shirts.  There  is  a  huge  kettle  of 
pitch  boiling  on  every  other  street  corner,  the  stench  of 
which  is  only  a  little  worse  than  that  on  the  roofs ;  but  this 
also  assists  in  suppressing  the  flies. 

When  I  arrived  in  Los  Angeles,  I  had  just  one  silver 
dollar  left.  At  the  earliest  hour  of  business  I  hastened  to 
the  office  of  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.,  where  I  expected  to  find 
a  check.  Inside  the  railing  there  was  a  keen-eyed,  thin- 
faced,  little  clerk,  with  his  remarkably  small  hat  set  a 
little  on  one  side  of  his  head. 

"  Have  you  a  letter  for  Socrates  Hyacinth  ?" 

He  looked  the  letters  over  in  a  manner  which  .seemed 
to  me  most  unnecessarily  and  provokingly  leisurely,  put 
them  back,  turned  round,  plucked  out  one  of  his  eyelashes 
and  looked  at  it,  and  then  said,  in  a  perfunctory  tone  : 

"Nothing." 

I  stood  transfixed  and  dumb.  Confound  the  man  !  I 
gave  him  such  explicit  directions,  and  now  there  is  nothing 
for  it  but  to  go  and  hire  myself  to  a  farmer.  After  a  few 
moments  I  started  with  the  utmost  reluctance  to  go 
away,  but  lingered  along,  and  dropped  some  fragmentary 
remark  which  indicated,  I  fear,  a  very  sanguinary  disgust. 

"  There  is  one  for  Solymus  Hyacinth,"  he  said,  casting  his 
eyes  languidly  toward  me,  as  he  turned  over  his  ledger. 

"Solymus  Hyacinth  !  There  it  is  again !  The  identical 
blunder  they  made  once  before,"  I  said,  impulsively  and 
somewhat  disconnectedly.  I  then  named  the  firm  from 
whom  the  draft  should  come,  whereupon  he  raised  his 
eyebrows  very  high.  He  walked  to  the  box,  took  out 
the  letter,  looked  at  it  again,  raised  his  evebrows  higher 
than  before,  but  said  nothing,  then  came  and  sat  down 
to  his  ledger.  Then  I  explained  to  him  at  considerable 
12* 


274:  CALIFORNIA  VIXE YARDS. 

length,  and  very  earnestly,  the  whole  affair,  how  the  money 
was  earned,  by  whom  sent,  etc.  He  was  manifestly 
becoming  interested  in  my  case,  told  me  the  letter  was 
from  the  firm  named,  and  admitted  it  was  quite  a  hard- 
ship. But  such  was  the  iron  inflexibility  of  the  rules 
they  were  obliged  to  observe,  he  could  do  nothing. 
Finally  he  asked  me  to  come  again  in  an  hour,  when 
there  would  be  present  a  gentleman  acquainted  with  the 
parties  sending  the  draft. 

It  would  be  a  long  history  to  relate  all  the  circumlocu- 
tions and  tuggings  at  the  red  tape  by  which  I  finally  got 
possession  of  that  needed  draft.  Suffice  it  to  say,  I  return- 
ed in  an  hour,  was  closely  questioned,  and  at  last  allowed 
to  open  the  letter  of  advice.  Then,  after  much  higgling 
and  chaffering,  and  by  affixing  my  name  to  a  statement 
of  facts,  I  obtained  the  draft. 

The  prettiest  things  in  Los  Angeles  are  the  prinientas, 
with  their  dainty  fringe-like  foliage,  and  their  scarlet  pods. 
Then  there  is  an  occasional  fan-palm,  with  its  immense 
vanes,  broad  enough  for  fans  in  Brobdingnag;  and  the 
lofty  date-palm,  with  its  thatched  trunk  looking  like  the 
side  of  a  Suabian  peasant's  hut,  and  hoisting  out  aloft  its 
crest  of  yellow-stemmed  leaves,  like  gigantic  ostrich 
plumes. 

In  regard  to  California  wines,  I  have  space  for  only  a 
few  general  remarks.  It  is  admitted  by  a  Hungarian, 
probably  the  largest  wine-grower  in  the  State,  that  Amer- 
icans are  already  the  best  vineyardists  in  California.  They 
are  not  only  more  intelligent  and  scientific  than  the  great 
body  of  French  and  Hungarian  peasants,  but  they  are  more 
careful  in  growing  and  preparing  the  grapes,  and  more 
cleanly  in  their  processes  of  manufacture.  The  best  wine- 
makers  prefer  to  buy  their  supply  of  juice  from  Americans. 
Then,  too,  European  methods  were  found  not  to  be 


WINE  MAKING.  275 

adapted  to  California  in  many  instances,  and  Americans 
were  more  ingenious  in  suiting  themselves  to  new  condi- 
tions than  were  men  who  had  grown  up  amid  Old  World 
traditions.  Americans  often  acquired  the  whole  art  and 
mystery  of  making  good  wine  before  these  disciples  of 
routine  could  get  out  of  their  European  grooves.  Among 
other  particulars  wherein  wine-making  in  California  differs 
from  that  of  France  may  be  mentioned  the  fact  that,  owing 
to  the  dry,  warm  climate  of  this  State,  especially  in  Los 
Angeles,  the  concern  of  the  vineyardist  is  to  prevent  the 
grapes  from  getting  too  ripe,  and  therefore  too  strong  in 
alcohol,  while  in  Europe  the  difficulty  is  to  get  the  berries 
ripe  enough. 

The  average  California  wine,  in  its  pure  state,  contains 
about  twelve  per  cent  of  alcohol,  and  to  the  American 
taste,  educated  on  whisky,  this  is  not  enough.  Hence 
even  the  most  reputable  manufacturers  add  to  Angelica 
and  Los  Angeles  Port,  which  are  very  sweet  wines,  a 
sufficient  quantity  of  pure  grape  brandy,  made  by  them- 
selves, to  increase  the  percentage  of  alcohol  to  about 
seventeen.  This  is  not  necessary  in  order  to  enable  these 
wines  to  keep,  but  to  overcome  the  excessive  sweetness 
which,  to  the  American  palate,  is  insipid.  In  Los  Angeles 
the  grapes  sometimes  parboil  slightly  on  one  side,  and  thus 
become  sugary ;  but  the  most  experienced  vineyardists 
remedy  this  to  some  extent  by  irrigating  with  cold 
mountain  water,  keeping  back  the  growth  of  the  vines  in 
the  spring. 

But,  if  the  Calif ornian  is  slightly  at  a  disadvantage  in 
regard  of  the  sweeter  wines,  he  is  able  to  distance  the 
European  with  his  light  table  wines,  in  that  his  generous 
and  cloudless  sunshine  imparts  to  them  sufficient  body 
without  the  addition  of  any  of  those  pernicious  decoctions 
smuggled  in  by  Europeans.  Indeed,  grape-juice  is  so 


276  WINE  VS.  WHISKY. 

abundant  and  so  excellent  that  the  price  at  which  wine 
sells  would  not  justify  the  expense  of  sugar  and  spirit. 
The  light  wines  of  California  are  probably  the  purest  in 
the  world,  though  the  vineyardists  must  not  assume  too 
much  credit  for  that  fact,  inasmuch  as  their  pecuniary 
interest  at  present  forbids  adulteration. 

There  are  many  Frenchmen  and  Italians  in  Los  Angeles 
and  their  example  has  been  contagious.  One  must  be 
surprised  to  observe  the  number  of  Americans  who  drink 
wine  regularly  at  dinner.  A  saloon  keeper  of  long  expe- 
rience told  me  that,  in  ten  years,  the  consumption  of  whisky 
had  very  sensibly  decreased,  while  that  of  wine  and  grape- 
brandy  had  increased.  The  result  was,  a  decrease  of 
drunkenness. 

The  oranges  of  Los  Angeles  are  the  best  in  the  world, 
with  one  exception.  In  Matamoras,  Mexico,  the  oranges 
brought  to  market,  though  small,  are  sweeter  than  these. 

Most  of  the  apples  are  nearly  worthless.  They  are 
vapid  and  insipid.  The  grafted  varieties  of  pears  grow  to 

an  almost  fabulous  size,  and  are  very  good. 

#  *  *  *  -x-  * 

And  so  at  last  I  tore  myself  away  from  beautiful  Los 
Angeles,  and  went  on  my  journey.  While  in  the  city  I 
bought  a  new  coat,  and  I  had  not  gone  five  miles  before  I 
met  a  man  who  wanted  to  sell  me  a  rancho.  Before  that, 
while  I  had  the  old  coat,  everybody  wanted  to  hire  me  to 
work.  Thought  I  to  myself,  when  I  reach  San  Francisco, 
I  will  purchase  an  elegant  pair  of  shoes,  and  then  some- 
body will  want  to  lend  me  some  money.  Said  the  man  to 
me — he  was  a  fine-looking  man,  with  the  universal, 
Californian,  brown  beard,  and  mounted  on  a  saddle  with 
bear-skin  housings — said  he, 

"  Perhaps  you  may  be  looking  for  Government  land, 
my  friend?" 


ON  THE  MUSTARD  PLAINS.  277 

"  No,  sir ;  if  you  had  the  swiftest  horse  in  Los  Angeles, 
you  could  not  ride  fast  enough  to  put  any  Government 
land  into  my  pocket." 

"  All  right,  sir.  No  offence  meant.  There  are  so  many 
people  on  that  errand  nowadays." 

Let  the  reader  understand  that  it  is  a  heinous  offence  in 
Southern  California  to  ask  a  knowing  one  if  he  is  looking 
for  that  description  of  land,  for  the  reason  that  so  many 
slouching  fellows  make  that  pretense,  while  they  are  really 
squatters  or  "  coyotes."  As  soon  as  this  man  saw  I  under- 
stood the  situation,  and  used  the  common  phrase  of  the 
country  in  repelling  the  insinuation,  he  apologized  as 
above,  and  then  offered  me  some  of  his  own  land,  and  then 
chaffered  a  long  time  trying  to  sell  me  a  horse.  This  was 
the  only  offer  of  land  I  received,  hut  the  new  coat  brought 
me  many  proffers  of  horses.  The  intolerable  nuisance  of 
Southern  California  is,  that  everybody  either  w^ants  to 
hire  yon,  or  sell  you  something. 

On  the  vast  mustard  plains  which  stretch  from  Los 
Angeles  to  the  sea  there  is  nothing  to  break  the  glaring 
white  monotony,  except  here  and  there  a  patch  of  cactus, 
overrun  with  \vild  gourds.  In  places  this  wide  waste  is  of 
a  dusty  or  coffee-green,  with  the  little  poleo.  You  may 
meet  a  scarecrow  Mexican,  with  his  rags  fluttering  in  the 
breeze,  and  his  wolfish  dog  between  his  legs,  as  he  sits  by 
the  roadside.  He  has  a  thousand  sheep,  but  you  cannot 
see  one,  though  you  can  hear  the  multitudinous  surging 
and  crackling  in  the  mustard.  What  on  earth  do  the 
sheep  eat  here  ?  Seeds,  nothing  but  seeds.  Yet  they  are 
lusty  fat  fellows. 

I  went  out  to  an  appointed  rendezvous  in  the  Santa 
Susana  Mountains,  where  I  found  Jim,  and  a  veteran 
whom  he  had  brought  for  a  bear-hunt. 

Early  next  morning  we  started  into   the  mountains. 


278  STARTING  FOR  A  BEAR  HUNT. 

Heed  advised  me  to  carry  a  shot-gun,  for  he  said  with  a 
rifle  I  would  probably  only  wound  the  bear,  but  with  a 
shot-gun  I  might,  at  short  range,  blind  him  and  do  some 
good.  We  went  out  along  the  foot  of  the  range,  waiting 
for  the  dense  ocean  fog  to  lift.  At  first  Reed  chatted 
glibly,  but  presently  he  began  to  be  silent  and  look  about 
him,  and  Jim  and  I  naturally  began  to  imitate  his  manner. 
We  stretched  out  our  necks,  and  gazed  about  like  turkeys 
when  it  is  time  to  go  to  roost,  looking  up  into  the  hills 
with  a  very  knowing  air,  and  screwing  our  faces  into  the 
ravines  as  if  we  saw  something.  We  stumbled  over  a 
great  many  bushes,  but  Reed  glided  noiselessly  among 
them,  without  looking  down. 

The  mountains  here  are  much  like  a  shed-roof  in  shape. 
There  is  a  mighty  canyon  in  the  slope,  with  steep  sand- 
stone walls,  and  thickets  at  the  bottom  which  Reed  said 
the  grizzlies  haunted,  making  their  dens  in  caves  in  the 
bottom  of  the  wall.  We  approached,  stepped  out  upon 
the  edge,  and  peered  anxiously  down  into  the  yawning 
and  awful  solitude. 

Nothing  moving. 

Reed  said  they  had  probably  returned  already  from  the 
plains,  whither  th'ey  resort  early  in  the  morning  to  gather 
prickly-pears,  and  we  should  not  see  them  astir  again  till 
evening.  So  we  spent  the  day  in  hunting  deer,  wander- 
ing about  by  wild  and  fearful  ways,  through  savage  gorges, 
and  among  stupendous  bowlders. 

Reed  soon  brought  down  a  pricket,  and  we  roasted  some 
choice  cuts  with  sticks,  and  ate  them  with  wild  honey — 
Calif ornian  squatter  fare.  The  hunter  showed  us  a  steep 
wall,  in  which  the  bees  had  deposited  honey  in  a  great 
cavity  thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  and,  for  lack  of  room, 
plastered  on  the  outside  wall  a  sweet  bushel  of  juice. 
They  placed  it  in  the  holes  in  the  trees,  and  rocky  caves, 


THE  GAME  DISCOVERED.  279 

and  every  wooded  ravine  smelled  sweet  with  the  dripping 
nectar.  "Was  Virgil  predicting  California  when  he  says 
that,  in  the  new  golden  age, 

"  Et  durae  quercus  sudabunt  roscida  mella  ?" 

That  evening  and  the  next  morning  we  visited  the  great 
canyon  in  vain.  Again  we  spent  the  day  in  a  desultory 
manner,  and  another  morning  we  were  disappointed. 

Then  we  went  to  a  deep  ravine,  where  Reed  thought 
they  might  possibly  be  out  yet,  eating  acorns.  He  walked 
slowly  down  one  side  of  the  ravine,  and  we  on  the  other, 
concealed  from  him  by  the  trees.  Suddenly  we  saw  an 
enormous  "meal -nose,"  sitting  erect  on  his  haunches, 
nearly  eight  feet  high,  a  few  rods  in  advance.  He  had 
evidently  heard  Reed,  and  not  us,  for  he  was  sniffing  the 
air  in  that  direction. 

Presently  he  rubbed  one  nostril  with  one  paw,  and  the 
other  with  the  other,  as  if  to  improve,  his  scent.  Jim  and 
I  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments,  but  our  hearts  kept 
up  a  lively  thumping.  Presently  Jim  whispered  : — 

"  The  bloody  old  humbug !  I'll  put  a  button-hole  in  his 
jacket.  If  his  shoulder  was  only  turned  this  way  a  little." 

"  Don't  try  it,  Jim !"  I  whispered.  "  You  might  only 
wound  him,  and  then  he'd  make  us  into  mince-meat." 

In  that  moment  of  suspense  and  grave-like  stillness  we 
heard  the  click  of  Reed's  rifle,  and  we  knew  that  long 
black  barrel  was  leveled  somewhere,  and  not  in  vain.  A 
sharp  crack  leaped  among  the  rocks,  followed  by  a  moan, 
while  Jim  fired  wildly  after  him. 

Heavens !  he  has  shot  another  bear,  and  this  one  is  upon 
him  before  he  can  reload  ! 

"  Load  for  your  life,  Reed ;  load  for  your  life !  There 
is  another,"  cried  Jim. 

"Mount  your  tree!  mount  your  tree!"  came  back  the 
gruff  response. 


280  END  OF  THE  HUXT. 

With  incredible  quickness  he  rammed  home  his  balls, 
slung  out  the  rammer,  while  the  bear  was  examining  his 
mate,  and  fired  without  aiming,  as  the  brute  rushed  upon 
him.  He  only  wounded  him  in  the  paw.  He  jumped 
into  a  small  live-oak,  followed  by  the  grizzly,  which  clutched 
his  boot.  A  ball  from  Heed's  revolver  ripped  a  long 
scratch  in  his  Jace,  though  it  did  him  no  great  injury.  But 
he  tumbled  down  all  in  a  heap,  dragging  oif  the  boot,  ran 
to  his  mate,  turned  her  over  with  his  unhurt  foot,  and 
uttered  an  appalling  cry  of  rage  and  distress.  Again  he 
plunged  into  the  tree,  where  he  could  almost  reach  the 
hunter,  and  again  a  glancing  shot  hurled  him  back,  and 
again  he  ran  to  his  mate,  turned  her  over  and  Availed. 

Thus  he  ran  backward  and  forward.  The  fourth  shot 
pierced  his  windpipe.  He  ran  and  lay  down  beside  his 
mate,  breathing  with  a  gurgling  sound.  Heed  slipped 
down,  loaded  his  rifle,  took  deliberate  aim,  and  sent  a  ball 
crashing  through  his  head. 

But  even  then,  such  is  the  tenacity  of  the  animal,  he 
continued  to  moan  and  to  struggle.  And  thus  together 
they  lay,  those  fiercest  brutes  we  know,  and  yet  so  constant 
in  their  death. 


CHAPTER  XXL 
COAST-WALKS. 

Las  Pasitas,  I  stopped  one  afternoon  at  an 
adobe  hut,  the  sole  house  on  an  immense,  wealthy 
rancho.  It  might  have  been  a  bandit  den,  it  was 
so  hideously  naked  and  desolate.  In  the  middle  of  a  great 
desert  plain ;  nothing  around  it  but  the  sheep-corrals ;  the 
ground  all  strewn  with  bones  and  woolly  skeletons ;  110 
windows  in  the  dead,  bleak  walls ;  no  beds,  no  carpets,  no 
chairs ;  nothing  but  rolls  of  blankets,  sheepskins,  billets  of 
wood,  guns  and  pistols,  smashed  hats,  boots  and  mildewed 
ponchos,  scattered  over  the  earthen  floor,  which  was  ground 
to  powder  and  never  swept.  There  were  blotches  of  blood 
on  the  walls,  as  if  a  sheep's  head  had  been  flung  against 
them,  and  long  stains,  where  the  hot  jets  might  have 
spirted  from  some  murdered  man ;  the  corners  were  full 
from  top  to  bottom  with  many-storied  webs,  where  fat,  old, 
lazy  spiders  drowsed  the  livelong  day,  sniffing  the  dark 
odors  of  murder,  which  never  for  a  moment  were  cleansed 
by  the  blessed  beams  of  the  sun. 

The  house  was  built  in  the  usual  native  fashion,  with 
three  rooms  in  a  row,  no  doors  between  them,  and  no  win- 
dows. In  one  end  slept  the  proprietor,  in  the  middle  the 
shepherds,  and  the  other  end  was  a  black  and  grimy 
kitchen. 

It  was  dark  when  the  shepherds  came  in,  and  there  was 
nothing  cooked.  They  killed  a  sheep  in  the  cruel  Spanish 
fashion.  They  hung  it  up  right  before  the  door,  and  cut 

281 


282  A  NIGHT  WITH  THE  SHEPHERDS. 

its  throat ;  stripped  off  the  pelt ;  tore  out  some  ribs ;  burned 
them  black  on  the  fire ;  then  gnawed  them  like  wolves. 

One  of  them  was  an  American,  but  spoke  Spanish  better 
than  English.  He  had  the  most  brutally  savage  face  I 
ever  saw,  and  as  we  sat  around  the  fire  on  the  ground,  and 
I  looked  upon  them,  lighted  by  the  ruddy  glare,  tearing 
the  bloody  ribs  in  their  teeth,  I  shuddered  for  my  safety. 
But  the  proprietor  spread  some  sheepskins  in  his  room,  and 
then  a  roll  of  gorgeous,  many-colored  blankets,  as  if  he 
were  some  luxurious  brigand,  rolling  them  out  for  his  cap. 
tive ;  and  I  got  what  sleep  I  could  from  them.  In  the 
morning  I  was  thoroughly  ashamed,  for  he  was  very  kind, 
gave  me  hall*  of  his  pocket  of  peaches,  chatted  glibly,  and 
bowed  when  I  left  with  the  courtliness  of  an  old  Castilian 
grandee. 

The  thing  which  one  notices  here  is  the  manner  in 
which  the  Americans  have  undermined  the  natives,  and 
set  them  loose,  by  marrying  their  women  away  from  them. 
The  Californian  girl  seems  to  say,  with  Jessica, 

'"  A  daughter  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners." 

She  likes  the  American  better,  perhaps  not  for  any  qualities 
of  heart,  but  because  he  is  a  better  average  bread-winner. 
And  it  is  not  these  Yahoos  alone  who  find  themselves 
without  wives,  for  the  best  old  Spanish  blood  goes  a  beg- 
ging. But  as  soon  as  the  capture  is  effected,  the  Californian 
wife  begins  another  kind  of  conquest.  She  soon  reduces 
her  husband  to  bread  and  coffee  for  breakfast,  always  com- 
pels him  to  speak  Spanish  with  her,  and  teaches  their 
children  only  Spanish.  They  learn  English  later,  but 
seldom  speak  it  with  correctness.  These  children  are 
often  remarkably  pretty,  being  handsomer  than  pure 
American  children,  but,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  they 


EARLY  DAYS  IN  CALIFORNIA.  283 

inherit  more  of  the  Californian  idleness  and  love  of  silly 
ostentation  than  they  do  of  American  energy. 

The  native  Californians  have  a  reputation  for  lavish 
hospitality,  but  they  are  outliving  it  bravely.  My  host  in 
Temecula  said  to  me,  regretfully : — 

"  Thirty  years  ago  you  could  ride  anywhere  in  the  coun- 
try, and  at  any  rancho  exchange  your  horse  for  a  fresh  one. 
But  that  is  no  longer  possible.  The  Californians  are 
becoming  selfish,  gold-hunting,  business  men,  like  us 
Americans." 

At  the  conclusion  of  a  "private  party"  which  was  given 
by  a  respectable  Spanish  family  about  the  time  I  was 
passing,  the  host  amazed  the  guests  by  collecting  two 
dollars  from  every  gentleman.  But  then  the  Spanish  have 
many  queer  notions.  Several  times  I  have  heard  one, 
after  eating  in  the  house  of  an  intimate  friend  and  neighbor 
say  "  thank  you."  In  Los  Angeles  I  have  seen  a  cigarrito 
offered  as  a  compensation  for  lighting  one. 

And  the  rapacity  of  Californian  mistresses  is  equaled 
only  by  that  of  the  Parisian  grisettes.  The  picture  of  the 
miner,  turned  wool-grower  or  farmer,  bringing  home 
jewelry,  dry  goods  and  coffee  on  his  quarterly  pilgrimage 
to  Los  Angeles  or  San  Luis  Obispo,  as  an  offering  to  his 
dark- eyed  neighbor,  is  one  less  elegant  in  its  details,  but 
not  less  humiliating  in  its  significance  than  that  of  the 
English  or  Kussian  nobleman  laying  millions  in  necklaces 
at  the  feet  of  his  Parisian  mistress.  More  than  one  good 
wife  did  I  hear  storming  and  clapperclawing  these  "squaws" 
in  a  manner  which  was  quite  unaccountable.  More  than 
on3  family  of  proud  and  ancient  lineage  did  I  find,  who 
were  once  the  lords  of  some  great  rancho,  but  were 
wheedled  out  of  it  by  Americans,  and  had  now  no  visible 
means  of  subsistence,  who  yet  arrayed  their  'daughters  in 
unaccountable  splendor. 


284:  THE  NATIVE  INHABITANTS. 

These  Californian  girls  are  wonderfully  graceful  and 
fascinating,  but  they  have  no  minds,  and  as  soon  as  they 
catch  an  American  husband,  they  are  indolent,  and  let  the 
hens  get  on  the  table,  and  the  cat  lick  the  cream.  Many 
a  poor  fellow  has  cursed  the  day  he  married  one  of  them. 

Perhaps  never  since  Adam  fell  from  Eden  has  there 
been  a  sadder  realization  of  Paradise  Lost  than  is  afforded 
by  these  native  Californians.  Before  the  discovery  of 
the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  whose  root  is  the 
root  of  all  evil,  they  lived  here  in  an  Abrahamic  simplicity, 
amid  their  flocks  and  herds,  which  roamed  over  ranches 
so  vast  that  a  nimble  horseman  might  gallop  across  them 
all  a  summer  day.  So  artless  and  so  unsuspecting  was 
their  hospitality,  that  they  asked  the  stranger  no  questions, 
but  gladly  offered  him  their  simple  cheer,  and  their  rich 
red  wine,  and,  at  his  departure,  gave  him  the  choice  of 
their  cdballadas  to  replace  his  jaded  steed.  With  none  of 
that  wealth  which,  when  gotten  at  last,  may  turn  to  bitter 
ashes  upon  the  tongue ;  and  far  from  the  miserable  ambi- 
tions and  janglings  of  mankind,  they  had  found  that  place 
sighed  for  by  Cowper, 

"  Where  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit, 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  war 
Might  never  reach." 

In  a  climate  without  heat  and  without  cold,  where  they 
might  sleep  half  the  year  long  beneath  a  tree;  living 
lives  without  labor,  except  the  dreamy  vigils  over  their 
herds; — the  pen  fails  to  reach  or  words  to  picture  the 
happiness  which  came  to  them  in  those  long,  sunny  years 
which  rolled  over  the  violet  hills  and  the  tawny  valleys  of 
California. 

Then  came  the  fatal  discovery,  and  all  this  Paradise 
became  a  great,  roaring  Pandemonium,  a  hell  on  earth. 
Every  canyon  and  every  foothill  swarmed  with  greedy 


CHANGES  PRODUCED  BY  THE  GOLD-DISCOVERY.  285 

gold-lmnters,  who  squandered  their  money  like  water. 
These  rancheros  suddenly  saw  every  bullock  in  their 
countless  herds  become  a  skinful  of  silver,  and  all  the 
yellow  marrow  of  his  bones  was  like  fat  gold.  "Wealth 
was  poured  upon  them  as  never  on  a  whole  people  before. 

They  would  have  been  more  or  less  than  human  if  they 
had  not  fallen  before  such  temptation.  These  simple 
Arcadian  shepherds  became  the  most  prodigal  spendthrifts. 
Recklessly  they  gambled  away  their  princely  ranches,  or 
sold  them  for  a  song  to  the  "  insidious  Yankee."  The 
attachment  of  the  American  sheriff  became  the  "  flaming 
sword,"  which  turned  every  way,  to  keep  the  way  of  the 
tree  of  life."  They  saw  their  fairest  daughters  taken  by 
the  Americans  to  wife,  and  their  sons  sitting  in  the  seat 
of  the  gambler  and  the  drunkard. 

No  more  do  their  gallant  wedding-trains  of  fair  women 
and  brave  men,  brilliant  with  their  rude  ornaments,  their 
boots  of  Cordovan  leather,  and  their  luxurious  ponchos, 
bordered  with  purple  and  wolfs  fur,  and  spotted  like  a 
pard,  sweep  along  the  valleys  from  mission  to  mission. 
No  more  do  the  gay  young  cavaliers,  sons  of  the  ranche- 
ros, canter  merrily  in  bands,  to  serenade  beneath  the  win- 
dows of  their  dark-eyed  maidens,  or  spur  in  breathless 
terror  through  the  darkness,  before  the  horrid  phantom  of 
the  "  Spectre  Bull  of  Salinas."  No  more  are  their  soft 
thrilling  waltzes,  and  the  tinkle  of  the  light  guitar,  heard 
within  their  rude  walls  of  adobe,  undisturbed  by  the 
presence  of  the  prying  trader,  while  the  rich,  red  wine  of 
Los  Angeles,  passed  around  to  all  the  guests  in  the  simple 
gourd. 

They  are  aliens  and  strangers  now.  Some  of  the  sons 
of  the  proudest  of  the  old  rancheros,  now  wander  as 
wretched  squatters  over  the  ancestral  domain,  or  earn  a 
precarious  and  miserable  subsistence  as  common  vaqueros. 


286  FIRST  VIEW  OF  THE  PACIFIC. 

Meditating  on  these  topics  one  afternoon,  I  observed,  at 
a  great  distance  before  me,  a  beautifully  sheeny  spot,  di- 
rectly beneath  the  sun.  Mirage  ?  No ;  it  is  too  brilliant, 
and  too  brassy  in  color  for  that.  It  slowly  gained  in  size 
and  in  brightness,  and  changed  its  tint  to  a  richly  mellow 
and  slightly  coppery  lustre,  like  that  of  California  gold. 
Then  crossing  a  wide  ravine,  I  lost  sight  of  it  for  a  time, 
and  coming  in  view  of  it  again,  I  plainly  saw  the  tremu- 
lous filmy  shimmer  of  water. 

Oh,  it  is  the  Pacific !  It  is  the  Pacific  ! 

On  the  foothills  of  the  Santa  Jues  mountains,  close  at 
hand,  there  had  lately  been  one  of  those  terrible  autumnal 
conflagrations  which  sometimes  sweep  over  the  dried 
plains  and  lower  mountains  of  California,  and  they  stood 
up  all  bared  and  blackened  by  the  savage  heat.  The  smoke 
still  hung  thick  over  the  arid  plain  for  miles  around,  and 
this  was  what  caused  the  sun  to  shine  with  that  strange 
glare  upon  the  hidden  ocean. 

But  what  words  could  picture  my  delight !  After  so 
many  a  weary,  weary  month  of  trudging  westward  with 
the  sun,  to  be  walking  down  at  last  rny  three  thousandth 
mile  to  the  old,  old  sea! 

Presently  I  could  see  the  long  white  sea-parapets  of 
drifted  dunes,  and  the  whiter  surf,  where  the  billows  flap- 
ped their  crystal  wings  upon  the  beach.  Then  came  the 
murmuring  of  the  breakers  afar,  and  this  deepened  slowly 
into  the  grand  and  solemn  sound  of  Ocean,  whose  every 
pulsation  I  could  count,  as  he  dealt  stalwart  blow  on  blow 
upon  the  ground. 

Just  where  the  mountains  and  the  sea  slit  the  terrace 
into  a  sharp  angle,  the  little  town  of  San  Buenaventure 
straggles  among  the  oranges  and  the  walnuts,  close  beside 
the  sea,  which  glosses  its  tiny  commerce  and  its  clam- 
shops.  The  smoke  gathered  over  it  at  sunset,  and  in 


THE  MUSIC  OF  THE  SEA.  237 

twenty  minutes  there  was  not  a  sound  in  its  intensely 
dark  streets,  save  the  ceaseless,  stupendous  hammering  of 
the  waves. 

'Next  morning  I  went  down  through  a  breach  in  the 
dunes,  and  laid  my  hand  on  the  mane  of  the  ancient  brine. 
My  task  was  done.  But,  to  compare  small  things  to 
great,  I  felt  like  Gibbon  on  the  night  when  he  completed 
his  immortal  history,  and  I  determined  to  walk  on  to  San 
Francisco. 

The  sun  crawled  drowsily  up  in  the  east,  through  the 
nearest  approach  to  an  Indian-summer  day  California  ever 
gives,  seeming  to  be  sleep-enamored,  as  Onomacritus  says 
of  the  moon.  After  crossing  that  great  and  weary  conti- 
nent of  dust,  I  sat  and  dreamed  and  listened,  and  watch- 
ed the  cool,  fresh  play  of  the  waves,  lulled  by  the  hum  of 
their  eternal  restlessness  into  a  deep  and  unspeakably  rest- 
ful peace. 

Is  it  not  quite  as  probable  that  Ctesibius  learned  the 
secret  of  the  organ  from  the  ocean,  as  that  Pythagoras 
deduced  the  ^Eolian  lyre  from  a  blacksmith's  anvil? 
Oceanus  has  an  ear  for  harmony.  He  sings  his  long  song 
through  the  centuries,  not  only  pitched  on  many  keys — 
the  keys  of  the  winds  and  the  seasons,  ranging  through 
stupendous  octaves — but  with  the  parts  as  well  in  chorus  as 
in  the  organ  of  St.  Cecilia.  There  is  the  ponderous  bass 
of  the  ship-breaker,  bellowing  as  through  a  throat  of 
mightiest  brass,  as  it  plunges  on  the  strand ;  and  the  ear 
that  listens  lovingly  to  Ocean's  song,  can  catch  tenor,  alto 
and  soprano  in  succession,  as  it  bowls  upward  its  revolving 
edge  on  the  clear-strung  sand,  with  a  metallic  resonance, 
which  trills  each  second  clearer  and  higher.  "Within  the 
hearing  of  an  attentive  listener,  a  score  of  billows  are 
striking  in  unison  the  sounding  chords.  With  my  ear 
held  close  upon  the  beach,  I  could  catch  the  multitudinous 


288  MY  FIRST  CHINAMAN. 

hum  of  the  surf,  old  Ocean's  solemn  diapason  in  an  an- 
them to  the  Eternal.  Listen,  ye  murmurers  and  indolent, 
to  the  sea  ;  the  opulent,  the  generous,  the  strong  ;  how  yet 
he  bows  himself,  and  sings  all  at  his  toil ! 

Walking  along  this  magnificent  beach  mile  after  mile,  I 
presently  met  the  first  Chinaman  I  had  seen  on  the  road. 
He  was  hurrying  along  in  a  funny  kind  of  teetering  dog- 
trot, bending  his  knees  very  much  under  an  enormous 
weight,  which  he  had  in  two  bamboo  baskets  on  a  pole, 
slung  across  his  shoulder.  He  had  a  straw  hat  broad 
enough  to  cover  a  California  pumpkin,  with  only  a  knob 
on  top  big  eiiough  to  take  hold  of,  and  a  coat  of  blue  gla- 
zed stuff,  made  like  a  shirt.  The  skin  of  his  head  was 
pulled  back  so  tight  by  his  tail  that  he  could  hardly  wink 
his  eyes,  but  he  screwed  them  round  toward  me,  and 
answered  my  salutation  with,  "  hello ! "  as  if  he  had 
dropped  a  flat-iron  on  his  toes. 

I  thought  that  was  pretty  pert  for  a  yellow  boy ;  but  I 
soon  found  the  poor  fellows  knew  no  better,  because  white 
men  had  never  condescended  to  address  them  with  any 
more  dignified  word. 

Afterward  I  often  found  them  journeying  up  and  down 
in  the  same  patient,  weary  way,  and  tried  to  make  friends 
of  them,  to  see  what  manner  of  stuff  they  were  made  of. 
But  I  never  could  like  them  as  well  as  the  negroes.  How 
often  Cuffee  has  gladly  gone  out  of  his  way  to  show 
me  the  road,  or  hastened,  unasked,  to  throw  a  pole  for  me 
across  the  slough  !  But  these  fellows,  even  if  they  under- 
stood English,  would  plod  doggedly  along,  and  say  as  lit- 
tle as  possible.  They  were  very  merry  among  themselves, 
but  they  seemed  to  fear  that  I  would  fall  upon  and  beat 
them,  as  so  many  gentlemen  of  the  road  have  done. 

Santa  Barbara  is  notable  for  the  crookedness  of  its  old 
Spanish  streets.  I  started  one  morning  to  walk  through 


A  DAY  IN  ST.BARBARA.  289 

it,  traveled  cheerfully  on  all  the  forenoon,  among  mean, 
little,  brick  and  mud  houses,  where  there  was  more  of 
dust  than  of  anything  else,  then  walked  briskly  on  till 
sunset,  and  stopped  for  supper  at  the  same  place  I  did  the 
night  before.  There  is  a  wonderful  number  of  pretty 
school-children  in  the  city,  and  many  Mexican  children 
not  so  pretty ;  also  a  very  creditable  number  of  school- 
houses.  But  the  streets  are  so  crooked  that  no  child  goes 
to  the  same  school  on  two  consecutive  days,  whereby  they 
acquire  an  unusual  breadth  of  knowledge.  There  was  a 
lean  and  dusty  pig  trotting  up  and  down  the  streets,  which 
once  had  a  very  thrifty  tail,  but  it  had  turned  so  many 
corners  that  that  organ  had  become  kinked  into  an  inex- 
tricable knot. 

Beyond  Santa  Barbara  the  coast-belt  becomes  a  valley, 
with  a  ridge  along  the  ocean,  and  all  along  the  evergreen 
verdure  of  the  oak  alternates  with  the  golden  and  russet 
ripeness  of  farms.  The  very  mountains  are  fruitful  with 
the  fatness  of  the  valley,  and  at  their  summits  display 
their  yellow  cores,  bursting  through  rinds  of  green.  All 
that  is  celebrated  in  song  or  story  of  Grecian  Tempe,  is 
equaled  in  this  valley  of  Santa  Barbara.  Here  the  hand 
of  Winter  often  forgets,  through  all  the  months,  to  strew 
his  frost.  Here  the  roots  which  yield  food  to  man  may  be 
planted  and  digged  in  any  month  of  the  twelve ;  and  here 
a  fig-slip  without  root,  planted  in  the  ground  in  spring,  and 
watered,  has  borne  and  ripened  a  fig  in  autumn. 

Yet,  even  here,  the  Eastern  farmer  finds  much  at  first 
to  dissatisfy  him.  His  good  wife  is  distressed  in  summer 
with  a  plague  of  dust,  which  gets  into  her  eyes,  gets  into 
the  beds,  gets  even  into  the  pots  on  the  stove ;  and  the 
farmer  himself  is  distressed  by  a  plague  of  mud  in  winter. 
He  can  hardly  get  lumber  enough  to  make  'his  two- 
board  fence,  and  his  neighbor's  swine  slip  under  and  vex 
13 


290  CALIFORNIA  FARMERS. 

his  soul.  He  cannot  afford  to  fence  a  pasture  for  the  cow, 
and  she  roams  at  large,  and  comes  home  when  she  pleases. 
He  has  no  stove-wood  but  the  most  gnarly  billets  of  live- 
oak  that  ever  tried  the  temper  of  the  splitter. 

And  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  farmers  of  California 
are  the  most  shiftless,  thriftless  men  of  the  class  that  can 
be  found  in  the  Union,  except,  perhaps,  in  Texas.  Every 
Saturday,  and  on  many  other  days,  they  mount  their 
horses  and  hie  to  the  saloons,  there  to  drink,  gamble,  and 
carouse.  Not  all,  of  course,  but  a  great  number.  Many 
of  them  have  no  wives  to  keep  them  at  home ;  there  is 
no  shade  about  the  house,  no  shrubbery,  nothing  beautiful, 
nothing  moist,  nothing  green ;  nothing  but  the  paintless 
board-house,  the  hideous  board-fence,  the  wagon,  heaps  of 
barley  and  bean  straw,  and  everywhere  dust,  dust,  dust. 

Then  there  is  such  a  quantity  of  gratuitous  wagoning 
done.  There  seem  to  be  no  farmers  at  all,  but  teamsters. 
A  man  will  hitch  two,  often  four  horses,  into  a  magnifi- 
cent high-seated  wagon,  and  haul  .three  boards  this  war 
and  a  cock  of  beans  back.  You  may  often  see  two  mighty 
wragons,  nearly  twelve  feet  high,  hitched  together,  and 

drawn  by  eight,  ten,  twelve  horses. 

*  #  *  *  *  * 

James  "W.  Marshall,  the  original  gold-finder,  came  to 
California  in  1846,  was  with  the  Bear  Flag  party,  and 
in  several  of  the  fights  which  took  place  between  the  set- 
tlers and  the  native  Californians.  He  afterward  became  a 
partner  of  John  A.  S  utter  in  the  mill  at  Coloma,  and  was 
at  work  at  the  mill  business  in  1848,  when  gold  was  found. 

The  narrative  of  the  finding  of  the  gold,  as  given  by  an 
eye-witness,  is  as  follows : — They  were  at  work  at  a  saw- 
mill. One  evening,  after  the  day's  work  was  done,  Mar- 
shall went  into  the  shanty  where  were  Henry  Bigler  and 
James  Brown,  two  of  the  laborers,  told  them  he  believed 


STORY  OF  THE  FIRST  GOLD-DISCOVERY.  291 

he  had  found  gold,  and  directed  them  to  shut  down  the 
head-gate  early  in  the  morning,  and  throw  in  earth  and 
leaves  to  stop  the  water. 

This  they  did,  and  Marshall  went  down  alone  into  the 
tail-race,  and  presently  returned,  smiling,  with  the  remark : 

"  Boys,  by ,  I  believe  Fve  found  a  gold  mine." 

He  had  his  old  white  hat  in  his  hands,  with  the  top  of 
the  crown  knocked  in  a  little,  and  in  this  receptacle  was 
about  an  ounce  of  the  metal,  almost  pure.  The  men 
crowded  about  him,  and  inspected  the  precious  stuff,  and 
one  Azariah  Smith  pulled  out  a  five-dollar  piece,  to  com- 
pare it  with  the  dust.  As  that  was  Carolina  gold,  how- 
ever, the  color  was  not  the  same,  but  they  supposed  it  was 
due  to  the  alloy,  for  they  were  determined  to  believe  it 
was  gold. 

Three  or  four  days  afterward,  Marshall  went  down  to 
see  his  partner  at  the  post,  and  was  gone  four  days ;  when 
he  came  back,  he  was  asked  what  they  had  made  of  the 
metal,  and  he  answered  with  childish  enthusiasm  : — 

"  O,  boys,  by  ,  it  is  the  pure  stuff.  I  and  the  old 

Captain  locked  ourselves  up  and  was  half  a  day  trying  it ; 

and  the  outsiders  wondered  what  in  was  up,  and 

surmised  that  I  had  found  a  quicksilver  mine,  for  you  see 
there  is  a  quicksilver  mine  found  by  a  woman  down  to- 
wards Monterey ;  but  we  let  them  sweat.  We  found  it 
agreed  with  the  encyclopedia,  and  we  applied  aquafortis, 
and  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  We  then  weighed  it  in 
water  by  balancing  the  dust  against  silver  on  a  pair  of 
scales,  in  the  air,  having  a  basin  of  water.  We  let  the 
scales  down,  and  when  it  came  in  contact  with  the  water, 

by ,  the  gold  went  down  and  the  silver  up,  and  that 

told  the  story,  that  it  was  the  clear  stuff." 

A  few  days  afterward,  Captain  (now  called  General) 
Sutter,  came  up  to  the  mill,  and  Marshall  wenit  into  the 
shanty  to  tell  the  boys  of  it,  and  said  to  them  : — 


202  STORY  OF  THE  FIRST  GOLD-DISCOVERY. 

"  And  now,  boys,  we've  all  got  some  gold  dust.  I  mo- 
tion we  give  Henry  Bigler  some,  and  in  the  morning  when 
you  shut  off  the  water,  let  him  take  it  down  and  sprinkle 
it  all  over  the  base  rock.  Not  let  on  to  the  old  gentleman, 
and  it  will  so  excite  him  that  he  will  set  out  his  bottle  and 
treat,  for  he  always  carries  his  bottle  with  him." 

This  was  done.  Just  as  the  mill-hands  were  finishing 
breakfast,  they  saw  Captain  Sutter  coming  along,  (a  well- 
dressed  old  gentleman  he  was,  the  narrator  naively  adds,) 
with  his  cane  in  his  hand,  with  Marshall  on  one  side  of 
him,  and  Weimer  on  the  other.  They  all  went  out  to 
meet  him,  and,  after  hand-shakings  and  salutations,  they 
started  together  down  to  the  tail-race. 

Just  then  one  of  Weimer' s  little  boys,  who  had  inno- 
cently been  down  and  scraped  up  the  dust  which  Bigler 
had  so  carefully  scattered  as  a  bait  for  the  Captain,  came 
running  with  his  hands  full,  out  of  breath,  and  cried  out : 
"  See  here,  how  much  I've  found  !  "  That  nearly  let  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag,  but  they  all  kept  still,  and  the  Captain 
never  suspected  anything.  Indeed,  the  ruse  was  all  the 
better  thus,  for  the  old  Captain,  seeing  how  much  a  little, 
boy  could  collect,  thrust  his  cane  into  the  ground,  and 
cried  out : — 

"  By  Jo,  it's  rich  ! " 

From  that  day  forth  the  discovery  was  assured,  and  the 
news  thereof  was  carried  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the 
earth. 

But  from  that  day  began  Marshall's  tribulations  and  cal- 
amities. About  March,  1849,  gold-seekers  began  to  arrive. 
They  squatted  on  Marshall's  ground,  and  although  warned 
off,  refused  to  leave.  Soon  afterward  some  of  the  miners 
at  Murderer's  Bar,  on  the  Middle  Fork  of  the  American 
River,  ill-treated  some  Indians,  and  the  Indians  in  revenge 
killed  four  or  five  white  men.  Only  two  of  the  white 


RESULTS  OF  FINDING  A  GOLD  MINE.  293 

men  escaped,  and  these  went  to  Coloma  and  raised  a  com- 
pany of  whites  in  order  to  go  to  Murderer's  Bar,  to  kill 
Indians.  Instead,  however,  of  going  to  the  Bar,  these 
men  began  to  kill  Marshall's  friendly  Indians.  Marshall 
protected  his  Indians,  risking  his  life  in  so  doing,  and  was 
obliged  to  leave  Coloma  soon  afterward  to  save  himself 
from  a  mob.  After  remaining  away  awhile  he  returned 
to  find  his  location  surveyed  oif  into  town  lots  and  in  the 
possession  of  others.  Soon  after  his  return,  men  there, 
believing  that  Marshall  knew  more  about  the  places  in 
which  gold  could  be  found  than  he  chose  to  tell,  threat- 
ened to  hang  him  to  a  tree  if  he  did  not  go  with  them  and 
point  out  the  rich  placers.  Mr.  Winters  secretly  furnished 
a  horse,  on  which  he  escaped  from  this  second  mob.  After- 
ward he  was  engaged  in  expensive  litigation,  and  became 
financially  ruined.  The  vandals  took  the  timbers  of  the 
mill  from  which  to  make  canes,  and  the  miners  destroyed 
the  dam.  Neither  Marshall,  Winters  nor  Bayley  ever 
received  a  dollar  for  their  property. 

Hardly  less  complete  was  the  ruin  of  Sutter,  but  he, 
being  a  man  of  influence,  recovered  enough  to  make  his 
latter  days  comfortable.  A  California  Legislature  voted 
him  a  pension  of  three  hundred  dollars  a  month,  but,  to 
their  great  disgrace,  refused  Marshall  one  of  one  hundred 
dollars. 

To  save  the  hapless  old  man  from  absolute  humiliation 
and  the  poor-house,  G.  F.  Parsons,  an  Englishman  of  Cal- 
ifornia, kindly  wrote  out  his  biography,  the  proceeds  of 
which  smoothed  his  way  a  little  to  the  grave.  Thus  the 
charity  which  was  denied  by  his  own  countrymen,  was 
received  from  a  foreigner. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
WITH  THE  SHEPHEEDS. 

HEN  that  American  Xerxes,  John  C.  Fremont, 
invaded  and  conquered  California  with  his  little 
band,  he  found  his  Thermopylae  in  Gaviota  Pass. 
But  he  was  lead  around  by  a  friendly  guide,  through  a 
secret  and  precipitous  pathway  in  the  mountains,  whence 
he  emerged  and  fell  upon  Santa  Barbara,  like  a  thunder- 
bolt from  a  clear  heaven. 

That  guide  was  an  Englishman.  "What  is  stranger  still, 
he  was  the  owner  of  a  vast  rancho,  was  identified  with  the 
country,  and,  by  turning  against  the  native  Californians, 
had  his  rancho  swept  by  fire  and  bullet,  barely  escaping 
with  his  life.  But  his  Saxon  blood  was  true  to  its  kindred. 
I  afterwards  saw  this  remarkable  man,  and  found  him  old 
and  haggard,  with  maniac  eyes — a  man  of  such  appalling 
outbursts  of  passion  at  times,  that  his  sons  were  compelled 
to  grip  him  like  a  madman. 

Gaviota  Pass  is  one  of  the  most  stupendous  in  California. 
Ear  up  its  majestic  sand-stone  walls  tower  perpendicularly 
into  the  heavens,  carved  and  scarped  into  wonderous  forms 
of  beauty,  semblance  of  honeycomb,  foliations,  corbels, 
triglyphos,  moldings,  and  all  those  stony  blossoms  of  old 
religions. 

From  the  highest  top  of  the  mountains  I  looked  down 
upon  a  great  valley  full  of  hills,  covered  with  ripened  wild 
oats,  and  sprinkled  with  evergreen  oaks.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing prospect.  The  oats  were  not  glaringly  yellow,  but 

294 


EXPERIENCES  WITH  TEAMSTERS  AND  TRAMPS.          295 

had  faded  in  the  dewless  summer  to  a  creamy  tint,  so  that 
the  hills  seemed  to  be  poured  all  over  with  milk  of  gold, 
and  studded  with  emerald  gems. 

Along  the  middle  of  the  valley  wound  one  of  those 
enchanting  fogs,  which  are  white  before  sunrise,  but  after 
it  blush  with  a  tender  roseate  purple,  faintly  suffused  with 
a  flush  of  gold.  They  are  the  rich  autumnal  winding- 
sheets  in  which  California  mourns  her  dead  rivers. 

I  have  spoken  before  of  the  number  of  wagoners  in  this 
country.  Indeed,  in  these  "  cow-counties"  there  seems  to 
be  almost  nobody  but  teamsters  and  tramps.  I  occasionally 
amused  myself  by  watching  the  developments  of  human 
nature  in  the  former.  The  latter  are  so  numerous  that 
they  become  a  plague,  and  the  wagoners  would  almost 
always  whip  up,  cover  me  with  dust,  and  go  past  at  a 
great  rate.  When  they  were  a  few  rods  ahead,  they  would 
slacken  their  pace  a  little,  look  around,  and,  seeing  that  I 
was  not  running  after  them  for  a  ride,  would  be  a  little 
astonished.  Then  they  would  slacken  a  little  more,  till  I 
almost  overtook  them,  and  lag  along  for  some  time,  to  test 
me,  and  finally  drive  on  again. 

Other  drivers  would  pass  me  at  their  usual  gait,  and  I 
would  quicken  my  pace  a  little,  to  keep  alongside  for  my 
amusement.  The  driver  would  take  an  occasional  squint 
at  me  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  but  I  would  make  it  a 
point  not  to  seem  to  be  aware  of  his  existence.  By  and 
by  his  respect  for  me  would  increase  to  such  a  degree  that 
he  would  say, 

"How  d'ye  do?" 

"  Quite  well,  I  thank  you." 

Then  I  would  walk  on  a  considerable  time,  wrapt  in  a 
brown  study,  his  respect  increasing  rapidly  all  the  while. 
At  last  he  would  look  at  me,  and  say,  "  Get  in  ;"  very 
seldom,  "  Get  in  ?"  Of  course,  I  would  be  obliged  to 


296  AN  OLD  MEXICAN  CHURCH. 

refuse,  whereupon  his  respect  would  turn  to  astonishment, 
and  he  would  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  my  whole 
little  history. 

On  the  upper  side  of  the  stream  there  is  a  narrow  belt 
of  champaign,  and  here,  right  in  the  parched  and  crispy 
middle  of  the  grass,  is  the  Mission  Santa  Ines.  You  see 
here  the  old  Mexican  terror  of  volcanoes,  for  all  these 
"  Tents  of  Grace"  in  California  are  pitched  on  plains  which 
for  seven  months  in  the  year  are  of  an  odious  dust-color, 
though  there  are  delightful  groves  of  live-oak,  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountains. 

These  missions  generally  stand  in  a  mazy  web  of  arcades, 
sacristies,  dormitories,  cells,  and  the  like,  all  mud-built  and 
roofed  with  red  tiles ;  but  the  church  itself  is  full  of  flaunt- 
ing splendor.  There  are  garish  moresques,  streaked  in 
flaming  yellow  and  scarlet  along  the  tops  of  the  walls ; 
saints  brilliantly  frescoed  on  the  walls,  robed  with  gambage, 
and  with  halos  of  brass  around  their  heads,  but  so  exceed- 
ingly lean  and  skinny-looking  that  they  must  have  given 
these  fat  California  Indians  rather  an  alarming  conception 
of  future  felicity;  besides  blue  and  white  draperies  of 
coarse  glazed  stuff,rude  candlesticks,  images,  tinsel  stars,  etc. 

There  were  some  very  black  low-browed  Indian  vergers 
moving  reverently  about  the  church,  placing  a  pall-covered 
coffin  on  an  elevated  catafalque,  high  above  their  heads. 
One  of  the  most  remarkable  evidences  of  the  superiority 
of  the  "  extirpating  Saxon"  is  exhibited  in  many  ot  these 
missions,  as  in  this  one,  in  the  shape  of  a  grog-shop  next 
door  to  the  church,  in  a  wing  of  the  same  building.  On  a 
Sunday  morning  you  shall  see  forty  or  fifty  Indians  ride 
up,  tie  their  horses  to  the  rack,  step  into  the  grog-shop, 
then  into  the  church — they  can  generally  go  from  the  shop 
directly  in,  through  a  side-door — then  come  out,  and  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  day  lounging  in  the  grog-shop. 


TALKS  WITH  A  STAGE-DRIVER.  297 

I  talked  witli  one  of  these  keepers  of  country  grocerys, 
who  had  a  great  deal  of  Indian  and  native  Californian 
custom. 

"  They  are  mighty  sharp,"  said  he.  "  They'll  come  in, 
and  lounge  round  till  they  git  acquainted  a  little,  then 
they'll  want  seventy-five  cents'  worth  on  tick.  Next  day 
they'll  come  back  and  pay  that,  and  buy  perhaps  two 
dollars  worth  on  tick.  Three  or  four  days  afterwards 
they'll  come  and  pay  that,  and  then  want  five  dollars. 
So  it  keeps  goin'  till  they  git  twenty  dollars  into  you,  then 
— ,"  here  he  gave  his  finger  a  significant  snap,  "  You  bet 
your  life  you  don't  see  'em  agin." 

I  went  over  along  way  among  the  creamy  hills,  through 
the  parks  of  oaks;  and  then  emerged  into  the  level  valley 
of  the  Santa  Maria,  which  is  so  vast  that  I  could  barely 
see  the  foothills  in  the  haze.  In  October  this  valley  is  so 
dead  and  dried  up  that  it  is  like  the  plains  of  Acheron,  and 
odious  as  the  valley  of  the  son  of  Hinnom.  Not  a  tree  in 
sight.  Nearly  a  whole  day  I  was  walking  down  this 
valley  of  dry  bones  of  grass,  bunch-grass,  dead  in  white, 
plumy  tufts,  with  a  little  wire-grass  between.  Even  the 
squirrels  were  dried  up,  and  I  saw  nothing  but  two  Mexi- 
cans, wandering  vacantly  about,  afar  off  on  their  horses. 

That  night  I  staid  in  a  most  forlorn  hut,  and  talked  with 
a  rather  intelligent  stage-driver. 

"  Most  all  of  these  people  in  Southern  California,"  said 
he,  "  except  these  big  sheep-men  and  stock-ranchers,  is  the 
meanest  and  mangiest  people  I  know  of — *  regular  poor 
white  trash.'  And  they're  stuffy  accordin',  for  you  ask 
one  of  them  galloots  to  git  down  on  a  heavy  pull,  and 
he'll  act  the  pork,  and  grumble,  and  fight  to  the  last  inch. 
Now  you  ask  one  of  these  Californians  to  walk  a  little,  or 
ride  on  top  and  he'll  do  it  without  a  word.  They're  gen- 
tlemen,  they  are,  you  bet  your  life." 


298  SAN  LUIS  OBISPO. 

Tlie  jet-black  and  waxy  adobe  which  is  spread  over  the 
broad  valley  of  the  Nipoma  produces  the  sweet,  rich  alfile- 
ria,  a  running  grass  greatly  prized  by  farmers.  This  ebony 
ground  is  slit  deep  by  the  summer  heats.  Still  the  surface 
is  very  pliable ;  and  lazy  farmers  sometimes  harrow  it  to 
fill  the  crevices,  "  dry  sow  "  the  seed,  harrow  again,and  so 
catch  the  earliest  November  rains.  And  they  get  barly 
enough.  Indeed,  the  system  of  summer  fallowing,  followed 
by  "  sowing  in  the  dust,"  is  coming  greatly  into  favor  in 
the  wheat  districts,  because  it  insures  the  crop  whatever 
rain  may  fall. 

Then  I  crossed  again  over  one  of  those  arid  and  dried-up 
champaigns,  approaching  San  Luis  Obispo.  There  is  no 
turf  in  this  country,  even  in  spring,  for  the  bunch-grass 
alone  can  live  through  that  weary  and  dreadful  summer, 
and  all  the  grasses  between  come  from  the  seeds. 

San  Luis  Obispo  has  one  street,  and  that  street  has  a 
broad  shoulder  in  the  middle,  and  on  the  corner  of  that 
shoulder  there  is  a  restaurant,  wherein  a  pretty  girl  brings 
you  a  tough  mutton  chop,  then  sits  in  the  -window,  while  a 
clerk  tosses  yellow  apples  to  her  across  the  very  narrow 
street.  It  is  about  the  meanest  and  the  dingiest  town  in 
California.  It  is  a  monastical  place,  a  kind  of  sacred  wool- 
barn,  being  nearly  equally  divided  between  great  wooden 
wool-houses  and  little  red-tiled  mud-huts.  On  the  little 
low  front  of  the  old  mission,  just  above  the  door,  there  is 
inscribed  in  Latin : 

"  How  dreadful  is  this  place !  this  is  none  other  but  the 
house  of  God,  and  this  is  the  gate  of  heaven." 

Then  I  went  on  into  the  mountains,  and  beheld  a  spec- 
tacle of  which  I  expect  never  to  see  the  equal  on  earth. 
Before  me  there  was  a  great  sunny  mountain,  with  a  thou- 
sand indentations  and  dainty  crinklings,  like  rumpled 
velvet,  mottled  with  colors  of  whose  richness  only  the  pencil 


THE  GREAT  WOOL-GROWING  REGIONS.  299 

of  Nalil  or  Bierstadt  could  fitly  discourse.  Here,  there 
was  a  pale  maroon  or  wine-color,  or  a  cinnamon,  or  a  cuir, 
or  a  gamboge,  or  that  surpassingly  rich  and  noble  hue  I 
have  seen  so  often  in  California  and  nowhere  else,  which 
resembles  nothing  so  much  as  a  delicately  frosted  damson ; 
and  there,  the  ripened  wild  oats  had  faded  in  the  rainless 
summer  days,  from  their  golden  color  to  a  subdued,  tender, 
creamy  tint,  which  seemed  to  float  over  the  slope,  lambent 
in  a  kind  of  flickering  mellowness,  now  creeping  a  little  in 
the  breeze,  and  now  dying  in  a  lazy  and  delicious  shudder. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  I  descended  to  the 
valley  of  the  Salinas,  passing  many  miles  through  a  noble 
and  magnificent  stretch  of  white-oaks,  which  names  the 
famous  hot  sulphur  springs,  Paso  de  Robles.  This  place 
of  course,  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  American  mania  for 
speculation.  Not  being  much  subject  yet  to  the  incursions 
of  the  fair  sex,  it  was  a  favorite  resort  for  peculiarly  afflicted 
miners ;  and  here  one  might  glean  such  a  notion  of  the 
morality  of  the  "  revolver-echoing  canyon,  the  embattled 
diggings,  the  lawless  flat,  and  the  immoral  bar,"  as  no_ 
where  else. 

This  is  the  heart  of  the  great  wool-growing  region.  Far 
in  among  the  mountains,  by  the  brink  of  some  sequestered 
pool,  you  shall  find  the  shepherd's  little  chalet  of  "  shakes," 
and  his  corral  of  loose  brushwood.  The  impudent  coyotes 
nightly  inspect  the  corners  of  his  habitation ;  he  hears  at 
midnight  the  coarse,  rough  hairs  of  the  grizzly  brush  against 
his  cabin  door,  and  the  long  and  hungry  howl  of  the  cougar 
floats  athwart  his  dreams.  There  is  no  ministering  angel 
to  cook  his  mutton  and  beans.  He  leads  his  flock  abroad 
on  the  hills,  aromatic  with  sage,  and  mint,  and  rosemary, 
and  purple  tar-weed.  Thus  he  lives,  and  all  through  the 
glorious  cloudless  summer  of  California  he  lounges  "  mony 
a  canty  day "  over  the  ripe  and  sunny  mountains,  and 
envies  no  soul. 


300  A  CHILD  OF  NATURE. 

Here  he  is,  sitting  by  his  flock.  All !  child  of  poetry 
and  of  ^Nature,  how  my  soul  goes  out  to  thee !  How  my 
heart  envies  thee !  See,  he  looks  .up  ;  he  smiles. 

"  Stranger,  you  couldn't  give  a  feller  a  chaw  of  tobacker, 
could  you?  Dern  my  skin  if  I've  hed  a  chaw  fer  a  coon's 
age." 

The  great  sheep-runs  of  California,  like  those  of  Austra- 
lia, are  a  kind  of  mild  form  of  Botany  Bay  for  the  respec- 
tive mother  countries,  where  are  gathered  all  sorts  of 
eccentric  and  unfortunate  characters,  from  a  bishop's  son  or 
an  editor,  down  to  a  runaway  sailor.  Among  these  I  found 
a  most  comical  genius.  He  was  an  Englishman,  the  son 
of  great  wealth,  well  educated  and  well  read,  but  self-exiled 
for  some  reason  or  other,  and  wandering  over  the  earth. 
He  had  a  facile  face,  and,  in  the  midst  of  a  story,  with 
a  single  grimace  he  would  set  the  camp  in  convulsions. 

He  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  set  out  to  travel  with  me3 
abandoning  his  situation  and  good  will,  though  he  had 
hardly  enough  money  left  to  buy  a  sheep.  We  set  out  at 
noon,  and  that  afternoon  we  talked  incessantly,  though 
toward  evening  he  began  to  complain  bitterly  of  his  boots? 
which  galled  his  kibes.  Next  day,  under  this  smart,  he 
developed  a  most  infantile  peevishness  and  petulancy,  and 
protested  a  score  of  times  that,  if  he  had  some  strychnine, 
he  would  swallow  it,  and  so  make  an  end.  After  three  or 
four  days  I  got  his  consent  to  go  on  more  rapidly  than  he 
could  travel. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  atrocity  and  bloodthirstiness 
which  this  class  of  men  exhibited  toward  the  Chinese.  One 
day  I  came  up  to  a  party  of  a  dozen  of  them,  squatted 
around  a  fi  re  by  the  shearing-camp,  and  fell  to  talking  with 
them.  Presently  one  of  them,  who  had  a  flat  nose,  sleepy 
eyes,  and  a  face  like  a  satyr' s3  said,  probably  to  draw  out 
my  sentiments: 


NEW  SENSATIONS.  301 

"  I  wish  I  had  here  to-night  every  Chinaman  in 

California,  and  every  white  man  as  stands  up  fur  'em,  and 
they  all  had  one  neck,  so  as  I  could  wring  it  off." 

It  requires  a  great  deal  of  land  in  California  to  maintain 
sheep.  For  long  month  after  month  they  nip  and  tweak 
the  same  tufts  over  and  over  again,  without  any  fresh 
growth.  The  rains  which  commence  falling  in  November 
sometimes  destroy  the  old  grass  before  they  give  new ;  then 
the  sheep  stand  under  the  oaks,  and  stretch  their  necks  up 
toward  the  long  festoons  of  pea-green  moss.  These  grow 
heavy  with  the  falling  rain,  swing  and  swing  and  drop, 
and  the  sheep  munch  them  greedily,  running  from  tree  to 
tree,  and  scattering  widely ;  and  then  the  hills  resound  with 
the  sanguinary  remarks  of  the  shepherds  respecting  the 
nature  of  sheep  in  general,  and  the  atmosphere  is  blue  with 
their  cursing. 

In  the  valley  of  the  Nascimiento  I  herded  sheep  several 
days  myself,  for  a  new  sensation,  and  was  rewarded  with 
some  delightful  experiences. 

Among  other  things,  I  heard  a  humming-bird  sing.  Af- 
ter whizzing  all  the  morning  about  the  champagne — aro- 
matic with  the  purple  tar-weed — a  certain  one  would 
invariably  perch  on  an  oak  limb,  and  chirrup  continuously 
for  nearly  half  an  hour.  Its  song  is  that  cool,  metallic 
piping  of  the  cricket — that  "  modulated  shade  "  which  Tho- 
reau  heard — but  infinitely  finer  and  subtler.  Not  in  all  my 
life,  not  even  from  the  violin  ot  Carlo  Patti,  have  I  heard 
such  an  exquisitely  fine,  yet  clear,  crisp  melody,  as  issued, 
scarcely  audible,  from  the  throat  of  that  little  singer. 

Then  I  saw  the  little  California  woodpecker  drill  a  circle 
of  holes  in  the  body  of  a  tree,  and  fill  them  with  acorns, 
hammering  them  in  with  his  hard,  tough  head.  Then 
there  were  the  bluejays,  which  bear  a  very  opprobrious 
reputation  in  the  East,  but  which  here  are  a  model  of  indus- 


302  OLD  JOHN  AND  THE  INDIAN  BOY. 

try  and  foresight.  For  several  days  together  I  saw  a  colony 
of  them  work  from  morning  till  night,  carrying  acorns 
down  to  the  river  bank,  where  they  secreted  them  in  the 
sand.  An  old  Migueleno  told  me  this  presaged  a  winter 
of  want,  and  so  it  proved. 

There  was  a  little  Migueleno  boy,  old  enough  to  be  a 
shepherd,  with  a  face  as  round  as  a  pot-lid,  and  black  eyes 
which  absolutely  danced  with  mischief.  He  was  shy  as  a 
partridge,  and  would  seldom  come  to  the  house,  much  less 
come  in,  even  for  his  meals,  until  they  called  him ;  and 
when  they  called  him,  he  would  never  answer,  but  start 
and  run  to  his  employer.  One  day  the  latter  grew  weary 
of  being  obliged  to  call  him  always,  and  he  went  out  and 
took  him  by  the  ear,  and  led  him  to  the  table.  The  boy 
burst  into  an  agony  of  crying,  and  seemed  heart-broken, 
and  it  took  him  a  whole  day  to  recover  his  cheerfulness. 

Pie  had  that "  school-boy  passion  of  giving  pain  to  others," 
and,  having  run  down  a  rabbit  and  pulled  it  from  its  hole, 
he  hanged  it  by  the  neck  till  it  was  dead.  There  was  an 
old  Irishman,  one  of  those  wandering  souls  of  California, 
who  are  never  at  rest  till  they  drop  into  the  grave.  He 
was  shattered  by  drink,  and  could  not  run  fast,  and  the 
boy  would  poke  him  with  a  stick,  then  run  and  climb  into 
a  tree.  One  day  old  John  came  to  the  house,  trembling 
and  puffing  after  a  chase,  and  said  he  : — 

"  Why,  I  believe  that  blamed  Injun  is  trying  to  make 
fun  of  me." 

He  was  very  merry,  and  would  even  whistle  a  little  at 
times,  which  I  never  heard  an  Indian  do  before.  Out  in 
the  hills  he  would  pull  moss,  then  sit  and  feed  it  to  his 
pets.  He  imitated  perfectly  every  bird  or  animal  he  heard, 
and  repeated  over,  and  over,  and  over  again,  in  his  childish 
treble,  little  phrases  in  that  most  musical  of  all  tongues,  the 
Spanish. 


JACK  POWERS  THE  FAMOUS  BRIGAND.  30 3 

The  easy  indolence  with  which  he  conducted  his  affairs 
was  enviable  indeed.  O  for  the  divine  art  of  taking  your, 
time  for  it !  for  the  inimitable  and  indescribable  felicity  of 
limberness  and  of  laziness  with  which  that  Indian  boy 
piloted  his  flock  amid  the  hills ! 

Near  the  old  Mission  San  Antonio,  is  the  cavern  which 
was  formerly  the  refuge  of  the  famous  brigand,  Jack  Pow- 
ers, one  of  the  most  magnificent  and  princely  robbers  who 
ever  lived,  even  in  California.  He  would  ride  on  horse- 
back, openly,  through  the  streets  of  San  Francisco ;  learn 
when  a  band  of  drovers  were  going  down  to  Los  Angeles 
with  their  gold ;  then  spur  hard  day  and  night,  rally  his 
bandits,  and  swoop  down  upon  their  prey  in  camp. 

A  wealthy  ranchero — an  American — who  began  in  pov- 
erty, and  used  to  herd  sheep,  narrated  to  me  some  of  his 
experiences  with  Powers.  He  and  his  men  "  drew  "  their 
groceries  almost  entirely  from  shepherd's  huts  in  the  vicin- 
ity. But  they  never  took  anything,  even  to  the  smallest 
sack  of  flour,  without  laying  down  for  it  a  double-eagle. 
They  never  deposited  a  smaller  coin  for  their  stealings. 
The  ranchero  said  he  had  come  in  at  night  many  a  time, 
wearied  with  running  after  his  restless  sheep,  and  found 
his  potatoes,  or  his  flour,  or  his  flitch  of  Oregon  bacon  gone, 
greatly  to  his  disgust ;  but  there  was  always  a  shining 
"  slug,"  fresh  from  the  San  Francisco  mint,  laid  scrupulous- 
ly in  the  place  of  each  article. 

For  these  reasons,  the  few  settlers  about  were  friends  of 
the  brigands,  and  even  threatened  and  drove  away  officers 
who  came  to  arrest  them.  This  ranchero  himself  acknowl- 
edged that  he  had  once  recognized  Jack  Powers  in  San 
Francisco,  when  a  word  from  him  would  have  cost  the 
brigand  his  life ;  but  he  did  not  "  divulge." 

To  one  who  loves  his  country,  and  has  studied  the  South 
it  is  saddening  to  see  California  following  so  nearlv  in  her 


304:  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  MINES. 

footsteps.  There  is  no  slavery  here,  nor  will  there  ever 
be  ;  but  there  is  here,  superadded  to  the  presence  of  a  ser- 
vile race,  a  vitiating  influence  worse  than  any  the  South 
ever  contained.  It  is  the  mines.  They  create  the  slavery 
of  fortune,  which  is  followed,  on  the  part  of  a  large  number, 
by  the  slavery  of  recklessness,  restlessness,  and  despair. 
The  towns  are  filled  with  the  unfortunate  and  the  wicked, 
and  the  country  with  unhappy  wanderers,  seeking  the 
labor  they  will  not  remain  to  perform  when  found. 

In  going  up  the  little  valley  of  the  San  Antonio  I  saw 
many  indications  of  the  growth  of  a  "  poor  white  trash."* 
Mean  huts  of  cottonwood  logs,  barely  high  enough  for  a 
man  to  stand  erect  therein ;  a  can  of  wild  honey,  inside ; 
a  half-eaten  carcass  of  venison  hanging  from  a  mighty  oak, 
outside ;  a  gaunt  and  sallow  woman,  with  some  almost  na- 
ked children — that  is  the  picture. 

On  the  other  hand,  behold  a  man  owning  60,000  acres 
of  sheep-runs,  so  selected  with  reference  to  springs,  streams, 
ranges,  etc.,  that  he  has  full  control  of  40,000  acres  of 
Government  land.  On  1,000  acres  of  this  land  his  poor 
neighbor  could  earn  an  honest  living  with  sheep,  if  he 
could  have  the  use  of  a  certain  spring  just  within  the  line 
of  the  bloated  rancho.  Is  he  permitted  to  use  that  spring  ? 
Ah !  the  other  has  "  floated "  his  claim  for  the  precise 
object  of  covering  that  spring  and  several  others ;  and  is 
he  such  a  fool  as  to  yield  it  now  ? 

In  the  upper  part  of  this  valley  I  saw,  for  the  first  time, 
sycamores  and  cottonwoods  clothed  in  that  "green  and 
yellow  melancholy  "  which  is  the  peculiar  glory  of  Eastern 
forests,  and  which  is  so  rare  in  California. 

Who  can  measure  the  sweet  influences  of  the  Eastern 
autumn  upon  our  better  life !  If  this  favored  country  has 

*I  beg  the  reader  to  permit  me  to  use  this  phrase,  for  none  other  will  ex-~ 
press  to  Americans  so  much  and  that  so  truthfully. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SALINAS.  305 

any  great  natural  deficiency,  it  is  one  of  trees.  And  a 
great  part  of  what  it  has  are  exempt  from  that  alternation 
of  decay,  which  brings  round  those  yearly  lessons  so  whole- 
some to  busy  man,  to  remind  him  of  that  which  shall  be 
hereafter.  The  unfruitful,  hard,  intractable  nature  of  the 
ancient  Israelites  and  the  Spaniards — who  knows  how  it 
might  have  been  mollified  by  forests,  on  which  the  ever- 
returning  autumn  might  have  painted  its  sweet,  saddening 
lessons  ?  The  autumn,  or  rather  summer,  of  California,  if 
the  people  look  away  upon  the  hills,  reads  them  much 
of  the  poetry  of  earth ;  but  there  is  not  in  it  that  ^ "  most 
musical,  most  melancholy"  rhythm  of  decay,  which  so 
ripens  all  that  is  divinest  in  the  heart. 

Every  Calif ornian  should  plant  his  new-born  son  a  row 
of  trees,  like  Laertes  ;  and  every  bevy  of  maidens,  like  the 
companions  of  Helen  in  their  epithalamium,  should  conse- 
crate to  the  bride  a  sycamore.  It  should  be  deciduous, 
just  for  the  effect  of  the  falling  leaves. 

Entering  upon  the  mighty  plains  which  form  the  valley 
of  the  Salinas,  there  is  a  spring  from  which  it  is  twenty 
miles  to  water.  This  valley  is  an  execrable  place  at  best. 
Every  day  for  seven  months  there  rises,  about  ten  o'clock, 
a  wind  which  blows  at  a  furious  rate  till  nearly  midnight. 
The  dry  bed  of  the  river  yields  so  much  sand  that  it  con- 
stitutes what  is  called  the  "  dry  fog."  The  live-oaks  which 
creep  out  a  little  way  from  the  foot  of  the  hills  are  perma. 
nently  bent  over,  and  look  like  old  men  leaning  on  their 
hands,  with  their  coat-tails  blown  over  their  heads.  Such 
a  blast  I  had  to  face  for  fifty  miles. 

The  life  of  a  vaquero  on  the  great  Salinas  plains  is  emi- 
nently free  and  easy.  The  naked  and  cheerless  adobe 
generally  stands  under  the  lee  of  the  river  bank,  to  hide 
from  the  fierce  winds  of  summer  afternoons,  or  else  back 
between  two  foot-hills.  At  daybreak  he  is  in  the  saddle, 


306  THE  LIFE  OF  A  VAQUERO. 

with  his  riata  coiled  on  the  pommel  and  his  blanket 
strapped  behind  the  cantel,  and  off  like  the  wind  to  herd 
the  cattle  together. 

Toward  noon  the  Chinese  cook  may  be  seen,  with  his 
bare  pate  glistening  in  the  sun,  and  his  pigtail  flapping 
gayly,  sweeping  the  horizon  with  his  telescope.  If  the 
black  dots  are  moving  toward  the  house,  he  goes  in  and 
hangs  on  the  dinner-pot.  He  has  no  special  need  of  hurry, 
for  they  may  ride  their  swiftest,  and  not  arrive  for  a  half- 
hour. 

At  last  they  gallop  up,  their  horses  puffing  and  their 
flanks  bleeding  from  the  cruel,  monstrous  spurs.  A  stran- 
ger arrives,  perhaps,  and  with  a  simple  buenos  diets,  enters 
the  house.  They  sit  up  to  the  rude  table,  the  stranger,  as 
he  is  expected  to  do,  taking  a  place  without  waiting  for  an 
invitation.  Stewed  mutton,  brown  beans,  and  strong  cof- 
fee without  milk,  are  the  staples.  Scarcely  a  word  is 
spoken,  for  these  vaqueros,  being  always  with  their  cattle, 
are  men  of  silence,  especially  if  a  stranger  is  near.  Then 
the  cigaritos  are  rolled  and  whiffed  with  that  exquisite 
languor  of  motion  native  to  the  race,  while  the  Chinaman 
helps  himself. 

After  an  hour  of  this  dolce  far  niente,  the  saddle  girths 
are  tightened — for  the  poor  horses  owned  by  Mexicans  get 
nothing  from  morning  to  night — and  away  they  go  again. 

The  afternoon  is  like  the  forenoon.  After  a  supper 
which  is  generally  pretty  heavy,  the  white  sheep-skins,  the 
calico  ox-hides,  and  all  the  store  of  gray  and  scarlet  blank- 
ets are  spread  on  the  hard  earthen  floor,  and  the  vaqueros 
lie  down  on  their  backs,  for  another  hour  of  cigaritos,  and, 
perhaps,  some  stories  of  grizzly  bears,  brigands,  and  the 
like.  Then  they  roll  over,  and  soon  the  room  is  full  of 
snoring.  The  only  door  is  shut  tight,  there  is  not  a  win- 
dow in  the  room,  and  presently  the  atmosphere  bears  a 


THE  BLANKET  MEN— EARTHQUAKE.        307 

resemblance  to  that  said  to  have  prevailed  in  the  Black 
Hole. 

The  stranger  finds  himself  strongly  tempted  to  gather 
up  his  soft,  thick,  fleecy  California  blankets,  and  go  out, 
and  bivouac  under  a  live-oak  beside  the  river.  The  pecu- 
liar circumstances  of  California  have  developed  that  blanket, 
unequaled  in  the  world,  which,  to  the  poor  farm-hand 
wandering  about  in  search  of  "jobs,"  is  house,  bed,  stove, 
chair,  cushion,  all  at  once.  During  five  months  every  year 
I  venture  to  say  there  are  ten  thousand  men  in  California, 
the  so-called  "  blanket  men,"  who  do  not  sleep  ten  nights 
in  a  house.  Lumber  is  dear,  and  houses  are  small,  but 
the  blanket  is  all  he  needs. 

In  the  valley  of  the  Salinas  I  felt  my  first  earthquake. 
I  must  confess  it  disturbs  one's  notions  of  safety  sadly,  to 
have  the  solid  ground  shaken  beneath  him.  If  the  earth 
is  not  safe,  what  more  have  we  left? 

It  was  not  quite  what  I  had  expected.  I  thought  there 
would  be  a  sudden  and  sharp  concussion,  followed  by  a 
rattling  of  glass  things ;  but,  instead  of  that,  the  house  set 
out  good-naturedly  on  a  kind  of  majestic,  elephantine  jig. 
But  it  is  a  kind  of  jig  that  takes  the  marrow  out  of  a  man's 
bones  mightily.  It  scares  a  nervous  man  dreadfully,  and 
makes  him  feel  as  limp  as  a  cloth. 

In  the  northern  end  of  the  valley  I  found  the  true  and 
typical  Californian,  the  American  miner  turned  farmer. 
And  such  a  farmer ! 

First,  there  is  his  "  shanty,"  a  little  shell  of  unpainted, 
unplaned,  redwood  boards  set  on  end,  looking  like  a  cedar 
goods-box,  and  so  little  that  a  man  might  steal  it  away  at 
sunset.  It  stands  in  the  middle  of  a  vast  arid  plain,  with- 
out a  fence,  or  a  bush,  or  anything  whatever  in  sight. 
This  style  of  house  is  the  real  equivalent  of  the  Eastern 
log-cabin. 


308  THE  TALE  OF  AN  OX-TAIL. 

There  is  one  room  before,  and  one  behind.  In  the  front 
room  there  is  nothing  but  a  trunk  and  a  roll  of  blankets  ; 
in  the  rear  room  is  the  stove  and  our  bachelors  "  things," 
which  consist  of  a  sack  of  "  spuds,"  another  of  that  won- 
derfully white  California  flour,  a  side  of  "  States'  bacon," 
a  bottle  of  cognac  for  his  coffee,  and  dishes.  He  uses  a 
fresh  set  every  meal,  and  washes  them  all  in  the  night. 

Upon  looking  around  for  his  farming  implements,  I  dis- 
cover a  pile  of  redwood  lumber,  and  a  promising  terrier 
pup,  which  waggles  its  tail  with  great  joy,  for  it  sees  no- 
body from  morning  till  night.  In  due  time,  however, 
posts  are  set  a  little  way  into  the  ground,  a  single  board 
atop  is  nailed  around  a  field,  a  crop  of  wheat  sown  and 
harvested,  and  gathered  into  a  barn,  now  built,  The  mania 
of  these  farmers  for  wheat  is  carried  to  a  pitch  of  absurdity. 
He  came  here  only  and  solely  for  wheat,  he  talks  of  wheat, 
he  dreams  of  wheat,  he  thinks  only  of  wheat,  and  he  means 
to  go  away  as  soon  as  he  gets  enough  wheat ;  but,  unfortu- 
nately for  him, — or  fortunately,  perhaps — he  is  entrapped 
by  some  wheat-colored  Spanish  maiden. 

Presently  a  bedstead  appears  in  the  corner,  and  some 
wheat  straw  is  stuffed  into  a  tick  and  laid  thereon.  The 
room  is  now  ceiled  with  newspapers,  and  chairs  are  intro- 
duced. The  maiden  arrives,  and  takes  possession.  The 
man  came  for  wheat,  and  remains  for  domestic  felicity, 
which  consists  of  beans  and  mutton  twice  a  day. 

I  shall  finish  this  tale  of  mine  with  an  ox-tail.  It  hung 
in  a  little  hotel,  right  over  the  wash-stand.  It  was  none 
of  your  dainty  switches,  but  an  original  and  undiminished 
tail.  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  to  be  swung  over  the  sup- 
per table,  as  a  terror  to  all  flies,  but  I  watched  diligently, 
and  at  last  discovered  its  proper  function.  It  was  used  to 
clean  combs. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DOWN  THE  YALLEY  OF  GARDENS. 

#* 

NE  of  the  notable  phenomena  of  California  is  the 

multitude  of  its  tramps,  the  so-called  "blanket 
men."  I  seldom  met  less  than  a  dozen  or  fifteen 
a  day,  and  they  all  wanted  to  talk  about  an  hour  apiece, 
and  narrate  their  grievances,  so  that  they  became  an  intol- 
erable nuisance. 

While  I  am  yet  a  great  way  oft,  sighting  me,  he  says  to 
himself,  "  Well,  there's  another  man  peddling  gab  out  of  a 
boot-leg,"  and  then  he  slings  down  his  roll  of  blanket,  sits 
down  on  the  same,  and  pulls  out  his  vile  clay-pipe.  His 
toused  hair  is  full  of  wheat-straw,  and  some  of  it  sticks  out 
of  the  top  of  his  hat. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  sit  down,  Cap?" 

"  Really,  I  haven't  time." 

"  Why,  set  down !  What's  the  use  of  rushin'  about  the 
country  that  way,  like  a  green  monkey  a-beatin'  tan-bark  ? 
Set  down,  and  let's  have  a  little  chin-music.  Don't  I  look 
like  your  uncle  ?"  With  that  he  begins  to  whiff. 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  discover  any  marked  resemblance 
between  yourself  and  any  of  my  avuncular  relatives." 

With  that  he  gives  me  a  look. 

"  You'd  better  set  down." 

"  How  do  you  like  California  ?" 

"  California  is  a  bilk  !  I'm  goin'  down  to  Arizona,  and 
if  I  ever  get  out  of  this  country  once,  and  come  back  again, 
you  may  have  my  head  for  a  foot-ball.  I'm  a  carpenter  by 

309 


310  INTERVIEW  WITH  A  BLANKET-MAN. 

trade,  and  a  man  back  here  the  other  day,  by  -  — ,  he  of- 
fered me  three  dollars  a  day  !  Sho  !  I  hope  that  man  may 
have  to  keep  tavern  after  everybody  else  is  dead.  Three 
dollars  a  day !" 

If  wheat  is  to  be  grown  forever,  and  almost  exclusively 
on  the  great  body  of  the  arable  land  of  California,  then 
these  immense  ranches,  and  the  consequent  hireling  sys- 
tem, so  baleful  to  California  hitherto,  will  be  perpetuated. 
But  if  the  old  Spanish  belief,  of  the  absolute  necessity  of 
irrigation  for  all  green  crops,  can  be  exploded,  and  it  can 
be  shown  that  a  farmer  can  produce  almost  anywhere  on 
good  land  the  variety  of  little  crops,  which  all  farmers 
have  in  the  East,  then  California  will  have  a  future — it 
will  have  a  population.  A  great  number  of  little  farms 
will  absorb  this  vagabond  element  continually  drifting 
down  out  of  the  mines ;  whereas,  if  the  land  remains  in 
vast  ranches,  these  men  will  always  continue  hirelings 
and  tramps. 

In  this  view  of  the  matter,  it  becomes  of  momentous 
importance  to  demonstrate  that  common  land  will  produce 
green  crops  without  irrigation.  I  will  give  here,  in  his 
own  words,  the  result  of  an  experiment  made  by  a  notable 
agriculturist : 

As  an  illustration  of  what  sub-soiling  will  do  for  vegetation  after  one  of 
our  dry  winters,  I  will  mention  an  experiment  of  my  own  made  after  the 
winter  of  1863-64.  when  but  ten  inches  of  rain  fell.  On  the  first  day  of  July, 
1864,  I  selected,  on  the  highest  part  of  my  land  at  San  Mateo  upon  hilly 
ground,  a  smooth,  hard  piece  of  sod  ground,  a  rod  square,  that  had  never 
been  plowed,  and  which  was  to  all  appearance  as  dry  as  the  peak  of  Mount 
Diablo.  I  had  it  dug  out  with  pick  and  spade  to  a  depth  of  twenty  inches, 
throwing  all  the  earth  out  of  the  excavation,  and  then  putting  it  back  again. 
I  thus  had  a  good  mellow  bed.  The  earth  for  the  first  six  inches  was  as  dry 
and  hard  as  if  it  had  been  in  an  oven.  Below  that  depth  it  contained  only 
dampness  sufficient  to  distinguish  it  from  being  dry.  In  this  rod  square  of 
loosened  earth  I  planted  about  thirty  pieces  of  potato,  and  raked  the  ground 
over  smoothly,  and  left  the  experiment  to  its  results.  Not  a  drop  of  water 
was  put  upon  it.  Of  course  no  rain  fell  on  it  that  season,  and  nothing  what- 


REDWOOD  VILLAGES— STANDING  TREAT.  3H 

ever  was  done  but  to  leave  nature  to  its  course.  For  five  weeks  there  was 
no  sign  of  vegetation  apparent.  Not  a  weed  nor  potato  top  was  to  be  seen ; 
and  after  daily  inspecting  my  dry  dust  bed  for  that  period,  and  I  had  begun 
to  consider  the  experiment  a  failure,  I  found  the  green  buds  of  my  potatoes 
just  peeping  through  the  surface.  From  this  time  they  grew  marvelously, 
and  before  the  1st  day  of  October  the  whole  rod  square  was  one  thick  bed 
of  potato  tops,  of  the  deepest  green  color,  an  inch  in  diameter,  two  feet  in 
height,  and  covering  the  ground  so  that  the  soil  was  not  visible.  On  the  1st 
day  of  November  I  had  the  crop  dug  up,  and  got  125  pounds  of  potatoes  as 
large  as  my  double  fist,  and  as  fine  as  any  I  ever  saw. 

Such  an  experiment  is  worth  more  to  California  than 
the  discovery  of  a  gold-mine. 

From  the  Gabilan  Mountains  I  looked  down  on  the  lit- 
tle town  of  San  Juan,  glaring  so  nakedly  white  and  red  in 
the  hideous  desert.  Descending  to  it  by  the  numerous 
windings  by  which  the  road  pitches  down  to  the  plain,  I 
found  it  only  another  redwood  town. 

One  wearies  of  them,  these  redwood  towns.  Every- 
where a  great  clatter  of  lumber,  and  rattle  of  hammers, 
and  savory  smell  of  cedar.  A  man  builds  a  habitation  of 
redwood  boards  in  five  days,  at  a  cost  of  forty-five  dollars. 
Then  he  lives  in  it,  and  calls  it  a  house,  and  his  business 
waxes  mighty  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

The  drinking-saloons,  flashing  with  cut-glass  and  gilded 
labels,  are  thicker  than  in  Mississippi.  Here,  at  whatever 
time  of  day,  you  shall  see  a  fine-looking,  broad-shouldered, 
bronzed-faced  man,  wearing  a  white  Chinese  hat,  enter  and 
invite  everybody,  friends  and  strangers,  to  assist  him  in 
drinking.  They  all  collect  together  in  a  group,  and  it  is 
characteristic  that,  while  the  liquors  are  mixing,  the  giver 
does  most  of  the  talking,  the  others  only  smiling. 

"  Here  we  go  !"  says  some  one. 

Then  everybody  nods  and  smiles  more  than  he  was  smi- 
ling before ;  there  is  a  suggestive  silence ;  the  bottoms  of 
the  glasses  all  wink  at  each  other,  as  if  to  say,  "  what  did 
I  tell  you  ?"  then  everybody  looks  cheerful.  Everybody 


312  THE  WINDMILLS  AND  GARDENS. 

understands  himself,  and  keeps  well  within  bounds,  because 
the  ceremony  has  to  be  repeated  so  often  during  the  day ; 
and  it  is  only  occasionally  that  you  see  one  who  is  indis- 
creet, and,  with  his  hat  on  the  side  of  his  head,  he  insists 
on  shaking  hands  all  round,  and  congratulates  everybody 
on  his  good  health,  and  the  salubrity  of  matters  in  general. 

Around  San  Juan  there  are  vast  wheat-fields,  and  here, 
in  the  season,  you  may  hear  for  weeks  together  the  clatter 
of  the  reapers  and  the  headers.  Then  all  night  long  you 
may  see  John  Chinaman  binding  sheaves  by  the  light  of 
the  stars  or  the  moon,  and  sleeping  by  day  in  his  blanket 
under  a  tree.  It  is  not  that  he  is  trying  to  labor  in  the 
same  hours  they  do  in  the  Central  Flowery  Kingdom,  but 
because  the  straw  is  too  brittle  by  day. 

One  begins  now  to  note  the  windmills,  which  stud  the 
valley  every  where, -not  swinging  four  great  arms  around 
in  a  drowsy  way,  like  the  Dutchmen,  as  if  they  were 
going  to  sleep,  but  smirk  and  dapper  wheels,  which  whistle 
round  on  a  breezy  day  like  a  flax-wheel.  This  wooden 
Aquarius  stands  on  four  legs  right  over  the  well,  and  holds 
on  his  shoulder,  twenty  or  thirty  feet  high,  a  prodigious 
tank,  which  it  is  his  business  to  keep  constantly  full.  Be- 
ing painted  white,  he  looks  very  neat  and  clean,  and  he 
makes  the  piston-rod  fly  up  and  down  at  a  great  rate,  while 
the  water  runs  far  out  in  troughs,  and  spills  out  over  the 
gardens. 

And  it  is  the  gardens  thus  watered  which  produce  the 
vegetables  that  have  made  the  Californians  seem  to  the 
East  to  be  great  liars.  Great  are  the  products  of  California. 
All  night  long,  when  I  looked  from  my  little  window  in 
Gilroy,  I  saw  the  yellow  moonstones  shooting  from  the 
sky ;  and  in  the  morning  I  found  them  all  in  a  neighboring 
field — a  pumpkin,  every  one.  The  carrots  are  like  Chinese 
babies,  as  if  the  earth  had  been  plugged  full  of  them  on 


AT  SAN  JOSE— A  NOBLE  VALLEY.  313 

the  other  side,  and  they  had  slipped  up  through ;  while  the 
beets,  on  the  other  hand,  like  genuine  Californians,  are 
sinking  shafts  in  the  other  direction.  The  strawberries 
declare  a  monthly  dividend  throughout  the  year,  at  the 
rate  of  five  berries  to  the  pound. 

It  is  a  noble  and  magnificent  valley  which  leads  down 
to  San  Francisco  Bay.  On  either  side,  some  miles  away, 
are  the  reddish-purple  and  hazy  sierras,  and  all  down  be- 
tween them  pours  the  broad  sheet  of  golden  grain,  islanded 
with  live-oak  clumps  and  groves.  Ah!  these  wide  and 
tranquil  farms,  hazy  in  their  autumn  rest,  so  rich  and  so 
ripe  in  their  glory  of  shining  ricks,  and  of  fattened  bul- 
locks, and  of  pumpkins !  Countless  barns,  too  great  before? 
stretch  out  still  more  their  wings  of  sheds,  like  a  hen-moth- 
er hoisted  up  and  shoved  about  by  her  growing  brood, 
vainly  seeking  to  cover  these  yellow  chicks  of  the  harvest. 
A  miracle  of  wheat  is  this  Santa  Clara  wheat,  so  white,  and 
so  sound,  and  so  flinty. 

It  is  a  pleasure  indeed  to  enter  San  Jose  after  a  tedious 
journey.  In  all  this  white  and  weary  land,  here  is  one 
green  town.  San  Jose  looks  as  neat,  as  sprinkled,  as 
swept-up,  as  any  Jersey  village.  There  is  too  much  glitter 
and  whiz  in  its  wooden  streets,  but  they  have  a  way  of 
throwing  water  around,  and  washing  the  shrubbery,  and 
spurting  it  against  the  windows,  which  gives  a  delightful 
coolness. 

Precious  in  my  memory  is  San  Jose,  brightest  of  Cali- 
fornian  towns.  No  words  can  express  how  sweet  to  my 
eyes  was  this  first  Northern  town,  after  crossing  a  frowsy 
South,  and  a  continent  of  dust.  Long  did  I  linger  in  the 
suburbs,  in  the  multitudinous  orchards,  and  let  my  eyes 
swim  and  splatter  in  this  cool  water  of  greenery,  wThile  I 
washed  iny  dusty  throat  with  pears,  and  my  soul  was  com- 
forted exceedingly. 
U 


314:  SUBURBAN  RESIDENCES. 

White  suburban  residences  are  tolerable  here,  if  any- 
where in  California,  by  reason  of  the  moors  or  everglades 
and  the  plantain-covered  flats,  which  keep  green  through 
all  the  summer.  These  and  the  orchards  conceal  the  arid 
champaign,  and  justify  the  color. 

Then  I  went  on  down  through  the  classic  Santa  Clara, 
and  Mayfield,  and  Redwood  City,  and  San  Mateo.  How 
oddly  these  dreamy  old  names  of  Spain  are  jumbled  with 
our  American  lumber !  In  the  city  of  Redwood  I  took  a 
drink,  but  I  slept  in  the  city  of  St.  Matthew. 

All  the  way  from  Mayfield  to  San  Mateo  it  is  only  a 
summer  suburb  of  farms  for  San  Francisco.  These  noble 
natural  groves  of  oaks,  all  swept  clean  of  undergrowth, 
with  here  and  there  the  turret  of  a  villa  peering  among  or 
above  them,  and  an  occasional  hedge-row,  remind  one 
continually  of  England.  But  the  drought  kills  all  lawns, 
and  now  and  then  there  is  an  extremely  garish  residence, 
with  a  board-fence,  which  recalls  one  to  America. 

But  the  eye  is  never  sated  with  these  groves  and  these 
villas,  the  distant  violet  hills,  the  wide  and  tranquil  farms, 
and  all  the  beauty  of  mellowing  orchards,  and  of  wheat- 
fields,  and  of  shining  ricks.  And  now,  at  last,  you  can 
look  far  down  across  the  brown  sea-marsh,  and  see  the 
dream-ships  dimly  come  and  go  in  the  haze  upon  the  view- 
less estuary,  sailing  right  among  the  cattle. 
####•#*• 

It  may  be  well  in  this  place  to  say  something  briefly  of 
country  life  in  California.  And  the  thing  first  to  be  said 
is,  that  there  is  not  another  State  in  the  Union  where 
everything  outside  of  city  limits  is  so  unrural,  so  contrac- 
tor-like, so  temporizing,  so  devoid  of  whatever  is  poetical, 
romantic  and  snug  in  the  old  farmer-life  of  our  East.  I 
did  not  see  ten  honest,  hard-fisted  farmers  in  my  whole 
journey.  There  are  plenty  of  city-haunting  old  bachelors 


RURAL  LITE  IX  CALIFORNIA.  315 

and  libertines,  who  own  great  ranchos  and  lease  them ;  and 
there  are  enough  crammers  of  wheat,  crammers  of  beans, 
crammers  of  mulberries,  crammers  of  anything  that  will 
make  their  fortune  in  a  year  or  two,  and  permit  them  to 
go  and  live  and  die  in  "  Frisco."  Then,  for  laborers,  there 
are  runaway  sailors;  reformed  street  thieves;  bankrupt 
German  scene-painters,  who  carry  sixty  pounds  of  blankets ; 
old  soldiers,  who  drink  their  employer's  whiskey  in  his 
absence,  and  then  fall  into  the  ditch  which  they  dug  for  a 
fence-row;  all  looking  for  "jobs,"  or  "  little  jobs,"  but 
never  for  steady  work. 

California  always  will,  in  my  opinion,  be  abnormally 
and  unhealthily  active  in  its  cities,  while  its  rural  life  will 
be  suffered  to  fall  into  contempt.  There  is  something  dry, 
something  dusty,  something  windy  about  the  country, 
which  drives  men  into  the  cities.  It  is  not  unlikely  that 
within  two  centuries  California  will  have  a  division  of  pop- 
ulation something  like  that  of  ancient  Greece,  to  wit :  mer- 
chants, artisans,  and  many  great  lords  of  the  soil,  in  the 
cities  ;  and  in  the  country  a  kind  of  peasantry  of  goatherds, 
shepherds,  tough,  little,  black-haired,  lazy  farmers,  and  the 
like,  to  whom  the  cities  will  be  unwelcome  resorts. 

It  is  fashionable  with  men  who  know  practically  little 
of  what  they  affirm,  to  call  California  the  workingman's 
paradise.  The  time  has  already  passed  when  it  was  a  par- 
adise for  workingmen,  and  it  never  was,  and  never  could 
be,  so  long  as  the  mines  existed,  a  paradise  of  working- 
men.  The  comparatively  small  number  of  laboring  men 
who  have  been  persevering  have  been  so  amazingly  pros- 
perous, and  deposited  so  much  in  the  savings  banks,  that 
tourists  have  been  deceived,  and  have  overlooked  the 
multitudes  who  have  nothing  in  the  banks. 

It  is  saddening  to  see  California  attracting  to  itself  so 
many  butterflies — men  who  are  not  so  much  beggars  in 


316  THE  LABORING  CLASSES. 

body  as  in  soul.  Most  of  these  in  the  northern  part  of 
the  State  are  single,  and  their  influence  will  perish  with 
them ;  but  Southern  California,  as  I  have  already  noted,  is 
gathering  to  itself  poor  and  worthless  families,  who  will 
perpetuate  that  wretched  sort  of  population. 

I  have  found  fault  enough,  certainly,  with  the  laboring 
classes,  but  it  is  because  I  have  their  welfare  most  earnestly 
at  heart,  and  because  they,  by  their  own  vagabondism 
and  debaucheries,  are  bringing  down  upon  themselves 
the  distrust  of  employers,  and  consequent  griefs.  But  I 
have  a  bone  to  pick  with  the  employers,  particularly  with 
the  great  wool-growers  and  rancheros  of  the  South,  with 
whose  habits  I  am  better  acquainted. 

In  the  first  place,  there  are  many  rich  men  among 
them  who  treat  any  kind  of  laborer,  white  or  yellow,  good 
or  bad,  like  a  dog.  Not  in  the  Southern  States  even  are 
white  men  so  pitifully  fed  and  lodged. 

In  the  second  place,  there  are  many  who  have  been 
made  so  distrustful  by  the  outrageous  conduct  of  laborers, 
that  they  insult  every  new  one  who  approaches,  and  thus 
repel  deserving  men,  between  whom  and  themselves,  with 
a  little  forbearance,  there  might  grow  up  mutual  kindness 
and  respect. 

In  the  third  place,  and  worst  of  all,  there  is  in  Southern 
California  a  feeling  of  caste,  which  seems  almost  to  have 
been  shaped  in  the  old  Spanish  molds,  and  is  deplorably 

un-American. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

The  story  of  Commodore  Sloat's  seizure  of  California, 
in  1864:,  on  behalf  of  our  Government,  as  related  to  a 
friend  by  the  venerable  Commodore  himself,  is  as  follows : 

The  Commodore  was  lying  at  Mazatlan  with  a  frigate 
and  a  sloop-of-war — while  Admiral  Seymour,  of  the  British 
navy,  was  there  with  the  line-of-battle  ship  Collingwood. 


STORY  OF  THE  CAPTURE  OF  MONTEREY.  317 

Sloat  had  orders  to  take  Monterey  whenever  he  heard  of 
actual  hostilities  between  the  United  States  and  Mexico. 
Circumstances  led  him  to  believe  that  Admiral  Seymour 
had  similar  orders,  or  that  there  was  an  understanding  be- 
tween England  and  Mexico  that  the  former  should  take 
California  and  hold  it  from  the  United  States.  A  courier 
arrived  from  the  City  of  Mexico  bringing  despatches  to 
Seymour,  but  none  to  Sloat.  Seymour  was,  after  the 
arrival  of  the  courier,  "  all  in  all "  with  the  leading  Mexi- 
cans, while  they  looked  daggers  at  Sloat. 

The  Commodore  watched  the  movements  of  the  Admiral. 
The  English  ship  hove  her  cables  short  and  made  ready 
for  a  voyage ;  the  two  little  American  vessels  (little  in  com- 
parison) did  the  same.  The  Collingwood  weighed  an- 
chor, and,  with  clouds  of  canvas  spread,  moved  majestically 
out  of  the  harbor.  Within  a  half-hour  the  Savannah  and 
the  Preble  were  plowing  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  while  the 
mind  of  the  gallant  old  Commodore  was  made  up  to  take 
California,  or  have  the  American  Navy  number  two  ships, 
of-war  and  one  Commodore  less.  On  the  7th  of  July,  he 
arrived  at  Monterey,  without  having  seen  anything  of  the 
Collingwood)  and  lost  no  time  in  demanding  the  surrender 
of  the  town,  and  soon,  without  firing  a  gun,  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  floated  over  the  fort  and  the  custom-house. 

Shortly  after  the  surrender,  the  Collingwood  hove  in 
sight.  The  decks  of  the  two  American  vessels  were  clear- 
ed, the  matches  were  lighted,  the  gunners  stood  by  loaded 
cannon,  and  the  yard-arms  were  full  of  men  ready  to  drop 
the  sails  on  the  instant  of  a  signal.  "  In  faqj,"  said  the 
Commodore,  "  we  did  everything  but  show  our  teeth  " — 
run  the  guns  out  at  the  port  holes. 

On  came  the  Collingwood^  and  dropped  her  anchor 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  flag-ship.  The  Commodore 
instantly  lowered  a  boat  and  sent  an  officer  with  his  res- 


318  STORY  OF  THE  CAPTURE  OF  MONTEREY. 

pects  to  the  Admiral.  The  Admiral  came  in  person  to 
return  the  compliment.  His  practiced  eye  could  not  help 
but  observe  the  preparations  for  immediate  action. 

"  You  seem  to  be  about  to  give  your  men  some  practice 
in  the  art  of  gunning,"  said  the  Admiral,  as  he  shook  hands 
with  the  Commodore. 

The  American  commander  pointed  to  the  flag  on  shore, 
and  remarked  that  he  did  not  know  but  it  would  take 
some  practice  to  keep  it  there. 

"Will  you  answer  me  candidly  one  question?"  asked 
the  Admiral.  "  Did  you  get  any  dispatches  through  Mex- 
ico just  before  you  left  Mazatlan  ?" 

"  I  did  not,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 

After  a  few  moments  study,  the  Admiral  said :  "  You 
did  right,  perhaps,  and  your  Government  will  no  doubt 
sustain  you ;  but  there  is  not  an  officer  in  the  British  Navy 
who  would  have  dared  to  take  the  responsibility  you  have 
taken.  You  doubtless  had  orders  to  take  Monterey  in  case 
of  war,  but  when  you  left  Mazatlan  there  were  only  a  few 
leading  Mexicans  and  myself  who  knew  of  the  existence 
of  hostilities.  It  is  all  over  now,"  he  continued,  "but  tell 
me,  Commodore,  what  you  would  have  done  had  there 
been,  when  you  reached  here,  the  flag  of  another  national- 
ity floating  where  yours  now  floats,  and  that  flag  guarded 
by  a  ship-of-the-line  ?" 

"  I  would,"  said  the  Commodore,  "  have  fired  at  least 
one  shot  at  it ;  perhaps  have  gone  to  the  bottom,  and  left 
my  Government  to  settle  the  matter  as  it  thought  best. " 

Thus  was  won  for  the  Republic  this  peerless  California, 
"  the  beloved  Benjamin  of  American  States,  whose  Au- 
tumn sack  is  stuffed  with  grain,  while  the  mouth  of  it  con- 
tains a  cup  of  gold,"  as  Starr  King  has  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
OUR  ULTIMATE  CITY. 

September,  1846,  three  transport-ships  were  mer- 
rily bowling  down  the  Atlantic,  bound  for  California. 
They  were  bearing  from  New  York  to  San  Francis- 
co, the  famous  Stevenson  Regiment,  whose  roster  subse- 
quently furnished  an  imposing  roll  of  pioneers,  legislators, 
and  millionaires  to  the  Golden  State — the  darlings  of 
Fortune,  who  not  only  "  achieved  greatness,"  but  had  it 
"  thrust  upon  them." 

Between  New  York  and  Rio  Janeiro,  on  board  the 
Thomas  H.  Perkins,  there  was  born  a  child,  whose  father 
was  a  corporal,  and  whose  mother  was  a  sister  of  that 
sometime  most  dreaded  brigand  of  California,  Jack  Pow- 
ers. He  was  christened  at  Rio  Janeiro,  at  the  American 
Embassy,  and  named  in  honor  of  the  vessel  and  her  com- 
mander, Arthur  Perkins  Heifernan.  Before  the  voyage 
was  ended  a  girl  was  born,  and  the  parents  of  the  two  in- 
fants made  a  romantic  agreement  that,  at  the  proper  time, 
if  the  children  were  so  inclined,  they  should  be  married. 

The  vessel  reached  San  Francisco  in  safety,  and  the  reg- 
iment was  presently  dissolved.  The  father  of  young  Hef- 
fernun  kept  store  in  Tuolumne  in  that  red-letter  year,  1849, 
and,  with  the  assistance  of  his  notable  wife,  accumulated 
large  substance.  In  those  days  Tuolumne  had  no  more 
worthy  and  respected  citizens  than  Charles  Heffernan  and 
his  kindhearted  wife,  while  young  Heffernan  and  his 


320  THE  VICTIM  OF  A  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE. 

brothers  and  sisters  frisked  over  the  red  foot-liills  as 
wild  as  mountain  deer. 

About  1852  the  family  returned  to  "New  York,  with  a 
fortune  of  $100,000,  but  they  frittered  it  all  away  in  a  sin- 
gle winter  in  Wall  Street.  Then  they  came  to  California 
a  second  time,  and  paid  diligent  court  to  the  "  fickle  jade," 
whom  they  found  no  longer  in  a  mood  to  shower  golden 
fortunes  into  the  laps  of  men,  but  exacting  now  hard  tug- 
ging and  sweat  of  their  brows.  Charles  Heffernan,  like 
so  many  old  Californians,  had  become  unsettled  and  unfit- 
ted for  labor,  and  he  made  essays  in  politics,  being  several 
times  elected  a  delegate  from  Tuolumne  to  Democratic 
State  Conventions.  Meantime,  his  boy  was  going  his  own 
wild  ways.  His  betrothed  of  destiny  is  said  to  have  been 
inclined  to  the  match,  but  he  had  breathed  too  long  the 
restless  air  of  California,  and  he  scorned  the  noose. 

The  sequel  is  soon  told.  In  the  winter  of  1870-71, 
crime  increased  to  such  an  alarming  extent  in  Virginia 
City,  Nevada,  that  a  Yigilance  Committee  was  organized, 
and  among  the  death-warrants  signed  by  the  mysterious 
"  Secretary  601 "  was  that  of  Arthur  Perkins  Heifernan. 
Silently,  at  dead  of  night  a  certain  block  was  surrounded, 
sentinels  were  stationed  at  the  four  corners,  and  the  few 
late  passers  were  bewildered  to  find  themselves  quietly 
taken  by  the  arm  by  masked  men,  led  home  by  circuitous 
routes,  and  dismissed  with  the  advice  to  ask  no  questions. 
Surely  and  swiftly  they  gripped  the  doomed  block  in  their 
enveloping  cordon.  When  the  morning  sun  came  up  in 
the  east,  and  looked  down  through  the  thin,  white  air  of 
Nevada  upon  that  poor  bauble  of  a  town,  flaring  garish  as 
a  painted  courtesan  amid  the  cold  gray  chaparral  at  the 
foot  of  the  hard,  bold  mountain,  in  a  little  dismal  back-yard, 
among  the  smashed  goods-boxes,  the  sawdust,  the  shords 
of  bottles,  and  the  faded  gauds  of  their  silenced  orgies,  his 


VIEW  FROM  POINT  AVISADERO.  321 

rays  lighted  upon  Arthur  Heffernan  and  others  of  his  kind, 
hanging  by  the  neck. 

This  for  the  story  of  a  wayside  inn.  But  we  are  now 
approaching  San  Francisco. 

From  the  bluff  of  Point  Avisadero  we  may  look  now, 
in  these  last  days  of  October,  on  one  of  those  strange  and 
subtile  landscapes  of  California  which  link  it  to  the  mystic 
Orient.  On  the  dark  blue  inlet  and  the  darker  bay — so 
richly,  lustrously  blue  that  the  artists  dare  not  give  it 
wholly  to  canvas  for  Eastern  eyes — the  white-winged  ships 
lie  fast-fixed  as  in  a  picture.  There  is  not  a  sign  of  life, 
save  where  the  heavy  brant  fly  low  along  the  blue,  with  a 
sound  as  clear  and  ringing  as  rapid  strokes  of  a  hammer  on 
ice ;  or  where  the  uncouth  sledge-headed  pelican  lazily  cir- 
cles around  awhile,  then  tumbles  straight  down  upon  his 
head.  The  farther  part  of  this  inlet  and  all  the  bay  with- 
out are  lapped  in  the  warm  and  delicious  white-lilac  halo 
of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  which  mellows  the  opposite  shore  to 
a  thing  of  the  merest  seeming. 

At  the  head  of  the  inlet  there  is  a  crescent  rim  of  gar- 
dens, running  a  little  way  up  on  the  slope,  where  the  neat 
white  windmills  sleep  and  dream  in  the  Sabbath  morning 
stillness.  These  gardens  carry  us  away  from  Italy  to  Ger- 
many, for  they  are  a  perfect  checker-board  of  tiny  squares ; 
— one  beryl-blue  with  colewort,  or  purple-red  with  cab- 
bage ;  another  yellow,  or  green,  or  white. 

These  huge  and  treeless  hills,  far  off,  seem  clad  in  doe- 
skin, smooth  and  soft  as  velvet ;  or  when  they  stand  in  a 
peculiar  slant  beneath  the  sun,  take  on  a  damson-purple, 
all  rimy-crisp  with  a  soft  and  sunny  flush  of  haze.  Where 
they  thrust  out  their  bold  promontories  on  the  deep-blue 
bosom  of  the  bay,  they  seem  to  float  upon  its  surface. 
Look  now  across  yon  distant  slope,  where  each  unsightly, 
naked,  wooden  house  seems  to  sleep  as  light  as  a  thought 
U* 


322  AUTUMN  LANDSCAPES. 

on  its  broad  and  tawny-velvet  bosom,  as  if  it  scarcely 
touched.  Approach  these  Californian  autumn  landscapes, 
and  they  move  your  scorn,  but  seen  at  a  distance,  you  can- 
not resist  their  secret  power.  There  is  that  strange,  desert 
glory,  that  wild  and  wizard  something  of  transparency, 
of  breath,  of  halo,  which  has  for  me  an  inexpressible  fas- 
cination. Nowhere  else  on  earth  have  I  seen  the  light  of 
the  sun  rest  down  on  this  beautiful  world  so  tender  as  it 
streams  down  through  this  white-lilac  autumn  haze  of 
California — such  a  light  alone  as  could  have  inspired  the 
passionate  laments  which  Euripides  puts  into  the  mouths 
of  Alcestis  and  Iphigenia,  as  they  close  their  dying  eyes. 
Hard  was  it  for  the  ancient  Greek  to  leave  his  beloved 
light ;  and  to  go  down  from  this  witching  breath  of  Califor- 
nia to  the  cold,  bleak  grave — that  were  the  saddest  and  yet 
the  sweetest  death  that  earth  could  give. 

And  then,  when  we  think  of  those  lurking  fires  beneath, 
the  sudden  trembling  and  the  moaning,  the  midnight  ter- 
ror, and  the  grim  darkness,  it  causes  us  a  deep  pang  of  re- 
gret. Strangely  and  weirdly  beautiful  as  Egypt's  gifted 
but  unhappy  queen,  California  is  yet  cruel  as  Medea.  Sis- 
ter of  Death,  bride  of  Mystery,  California  robes  herself  in 
pallid  garments  to  meet  her  spouse ;  and  her  white  form 
gleams  across  to  the  mystic  Orient. 

California  will  be,  like  Greece,  the  home  of  genius,  a 
land  of  light,  of  love,  and  of  song.  Its  present  sardonic, 
"  Grizzly  "  humor  will  be  mellowed  down.  It  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  perceive  one  very  fruitful  source  of  that  intensity 
of  devotion  with  which  even  her  adopted  children  cling  to 
her  already. 

Then  I  went  over  where  all  these  ponderous  hills  leap 
together  in  their  nude,  dithyrambic  revels,  and  climbed 
upon  the  largest,  Mission  Hill.  As  I  reached  the  summit, 
there  stretched  out  far  and  long  beneath  me  that  which  I 


LONE  MOUNTAIN  IN  EARLY  TIMES.  323 

have  ventured  to  call  "  Oar  Ultimate  City."  The  city  it- 
self and  all  that  part  of  the  peninsula  east  of  the  central 
ridge  looks  drearily  sandy  and  dust-colored ;  while  in  the 
valley  on  the  right  the  wooden  suburbs  come  straggling 
out,  all  around  the  little,  old,  red-tiled  Mission  Dolores, 
which  they  rudely  jostle  out  of  its  sleepy  antiquity. 

The  western  half  the  peninsula  looks  freshly  green  in 
its  stubby  encinal,  which  the  sea-fog  dusts  and  sprinkles. 
In  the  midst  of  it  looms  a  little  knoll,  scarcely  higher  than 
the  lofty  crucifix  which  surmounts  it,  and  hard  by  the  white 
columns  reared  above  Starr  King  and  Broderick  lift  them- 
selves high  above  the  squat  greenery,  and  look  out  over 
the  wide  Pacific.  Lone  Mountain  !  It  is  a  dreary  name 
for  a  most  dreary  grave-yard.  Hard  work  have  the  scrub- 
by and  knurly  bushes  to  keep  the  ocean  winds  from  sweep- 
ing away  the  dismal  waste  of  sand.  When  in  those  earlier 
years,  one  miner  after  another  wrandered  wearily  down 
from  the  place  of  his  perished  expectations,  to  die  in  his 
beloved  "  Frisco,"  and  a  little  band  of  comrades  brought 
him  and  buried  him  here,  in  sight  of  the  coming  ships, 
and  planted  at  his  head  a  piece  of  cracker-box — perhaps  the 
only  memorial  of  their  native  East,  which  he  had  so  yearn- 
ed to  see — how  lonesome  then  was  this  name — Lone 

Mountain ! 

•*  *  *  #  *  * 

Although  a  metropolis  oi  a  region  which  produces  silver 
up  to  the  very  clouds,  and  wheat  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
ocean  waves,  San  Francisco  has  the  most  hideous  site  of  all 
great  American. cities.  During  the  winter,  in  the  intervals 
between  the  weeping  rains,  there  are  snatches  of  weather 
which  are  paradisiacal ;  but  in  the  summer  afternoons  the 
wind  is  forever  combing  the  sand  over  the  hills,  and  sprink- 
ling it  with  a  whistling  swirl  into  every  crevice  and 
cranny.  In  the  evening  comes  the  rushing  fog,  and 


THE  CHINESE. 

all  the  next  forenoon  it  is  sour  enough  to  give  the  very 
weather-cocks  the  influenza. 

Yet  the  health  of  the  place  is  good  enough,  and  one 
sees  aplenty  of  faces  which  are  fresh,  and  ruddy,  and  round. 
The  local  appetite  is  keen.  The  suavity  and  complacency 
of  these  well-fed,  golden-bellied  bankers  are  refreshing  to 
contemplate. 

It  amused  me  to  see  people  whisk  their  houses  through 
the  streets  at  such  a  rate.  I  have  seen  a  three-story 
house  trundle  majestically  along  behind  many  horses, 
while  a  man  bestrode  the  roof,  and  cried  out,  "  Clear  the 
'track  1" 

One  quickly  notes  that  California  children  are  almost 
as  insufferable  in  their  petulance  as  those  of  great  South- 
ern planters.  This  is  a  result  for  which  there  is  cause 
enough,  aside  from  other  things,  in  the  meekness  of  Chi- 
nese servants.  It  is  most  unfortunate  for  these  children  to 
be  brought  in  contact  with  these  pitiful  and  craven  souls. 
The  Chinese  are  too  willing.  They  do  too  much  ;  they 
are  pampering  a  generation  in  indolence.  They  bear  too 
much.  I  confess  that  when  I  see  them  set  upon  and  pelted 
by  these  little  jackanapes,  I  wish  in  my  soul  they  would 
cuff  them  soundly.  They  need  it,  if  ever  children  did. 

As  might  be  expected  in  a  country  where  gold  occurs  in 
wedges,  California  has  a  strong  tendency  to  split  society  in- 
to high  and  low  extremes.  There  is  some  swift  and  resist- 
less power  of  King  Gold  which  greatly  strengthens  the 
strong,  but  crushes  down  the  weak  and  the  unfortunate  in- 
to hopeless,  dumb  despair.  This  darling  and  sunny  child  of 
our  young  Republic  is  already  old  as  Europe  in  suicide. 
The  proud-hearted  Californians  learn  very  slowly  to  beg 
outright  in  the  streets,  and  tourists  who  flit  about  a  few 
weeks  in  the  buggies  of  friends  are  easily  deceived  by  the 
superficial  tranquillity.  But  ah !  the  Lombards  and  the 


"GKASS  WIDOWS"  AND  "SPIRITUAL  WIDOWEES."       325 

suicides!  You  shall  see  a  man,  utterly  and  crushingly 
ruined,  calmly  smoking  at  evening  on  the  quays  the  cigar 
for  which  he  paid  his  last  dime ;  in  the  morning  the 
blue  waters  of  the  bay  flow  above  him. 

Ah  !  heavy  is  my  heart  with  sorrow  and  with  pity,  when 
I  look  back  and  remember  the  sad,  fallen  humanity  I  have 
encountered  in  this  sunny  clime,  and  with  whom  I  have 
sat  or  wandered,  listening  to  their  broken  stories,  and  be- 
holding the  bitter  tears  they  wept  in  the  anguish  of  a 
wasted  and  ruined  life.  O  California,  the  peerless,  so 
young,  so  beautiful,  yet  so  old  in  sorrow  and  remorse ! 

As  to  the  local  love  of  scandal  and  backbiting,  I  can  only 
add  my  testimony  to  that  of  Mr.  Brace.  But  there  is  one 
prolific  source  of  it  which  he  does  not  develop. 

A  good  many  of  the  first  women  who  came  to  these 
shores  were  energetic  and  adventurous  servant  girls,  who 
earned  fabulous  wages,  and  were  petted  till  they  were 
spoiled.  Many  of  them  became  rich,  and,  in  the  great  scar- 
city of  women,  married  quite  above  their  station.  But 
these  marriages  generally  produced  an  amazing  crop  of 
incompatibility,  scandal,  and  connubial  clapper-clawing, 
and  the  wives,  feeling  very  independent,  often  left  home, 
and  joined  themselves  unto  others,  like  Tennessee's  part- 
ner's wife.  There  are  also  a  considerable  number  of  them 
"  ladies  living  in  San  Francisco  for  the  education  of  their 
children,  while  their  husbands  linger  a  little  longer  in  Ne- 
vada, to  complete  their  fortunes."  The  gorgeous  robes 
and  jewels  of  this  class  will  deceive  you  for  a  time,  but 
you  will  presently  be  set  aghast  by  the  remark,  "  You  bet 
your  life." 

More  men  marry  here  for  wealth  or  convenience  than 
anywhere  else  in  the  Union,  and  they  suffer  accordingly. 
That  queer  Americanism  "  grass  widow,"  is  here  supple- 
mented by  the  other  one,  "  spiritual  widower."  A  poor 


326  LOCAL  CHARACTERISTICS. 

man  once  remarked  to  me,  with  a  most  comically  dolorous 
face,  "  Like  so  many  other  people,  I  thought  I  had  a  wife, 
but  one  morning  I  found  I  hadn't." 

There  is  a  wonderful  aggressiveness  and  magnetism  in 
the  life  of  San  Francisco,  which  is  not  easily  explainable. 
A  German  scholar  informs  me  that  his  countrymen  yield 
up  their  language  and  their  national  distinctiveness  here 
faster  than  anywhere  else  in  Christendom,  except  among 
that  most  splendid  of  the  races  of  humanity,  the  Magyars. 

At  the  same  time,  there  is  a  kind  of  subtility  or  conserv- 
atism of  culture  which  is  remarkable  in  so  young  a  city. 
But  this  conservatism  is  prejudicial  to  business.  Probably 
there  never  was  another  city  of  170,000  inhabitants,  of 
whom  so  great  a  proportion  had  traveled  so  widely  and 
seen  so  much  as  had  those  of  San  Francisco.  Yet  in  wide- 
reaching  business  enterprise  the  great  city  was  put  to 
shame  by  little  Sacramento.  Does  intellectual  expansion 
then  give  financial  caution  ? 

It  cannot  be  explained  that  this  monetary  provincialism 
was  taught  by  previous  bitter  experience  in  the  mines,  for 
Sacramento  merchants  had  also  had  that  lesson.  Is  it  then 
that  seaports  are  more  cautious  than  inland  cities  ? 

But  this  sort  of  provincialism  has  not  impaired  their  true 
and  hearty  loyalty  toward  our  common  country.  To  the 
Americans  of  this  far-off  coast  the.  Union  is  as  dear  as  to 
the  millions  of  the  populous  East.  Here,  as  yonder,  the 
patriot  soldier's  grave  beside  the  sea  is  watered  by  a  moth- 
er's tears.  In  the  words  of  their  poet  who  is  more  racily 
and  more  truly  Californian  than  any  other,  these  people 
call  across  to  us : 

"  0  brothers  by  the  farther  sea, 

Think  still  our  faith  is  warm  ; 
The  same  bright  flag  above  us  waves 
That  swathed  our  baby  fonn.'V, 


AT  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


327 


And  now,  on  that  November  day,  I  go  out  to  com- 
plete my  walk,  wading  over  mighty  dunes  of  yellow  sand, 
heaped  up  by  the  wind  and  the  ocean  through  ages. 

Then,  sitting  there  till  the  setting  sun  turned  that 
narrow  strait  into  a  veritable  Golden  Gate,  gorgeously 
overarched  with  lilac,  and  amethyst,  and  orange,  I  clam- 
bered down  the  cliffs  to  the  beach.  There  I  beheld  the 
hand  of  old  Ocean,  with  a  prodigious  flourish  of  his 
spray-wrought  stylus,  grave  for  me,  in  cuneiform  char- 
acters upon  the  tablet  of  the  strand,  the  exultant  colo- 
phon of  my  long  toil  ended.  Stooping,  and  dipping  my 
hand  into  the  brine,  I  said,  The  Sunrise  to  the  Sunset 
Sea,  through  a  weary  footman,  Greeting. 


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wishing  an  agency.  Address, 

COLUMBIAN  BOOK  COMPANY, 

ITartford,  Conn.- 


